














Class ~?Z a 

Book Gin 2. 'a. “Z 

GopyiiglitN® 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




THE FATAL BEACON. 


I 


THE FATAL BEACON 


By 

Author 


■/ 

/ 

F/von BRACKEU 

Vs 

“ The Circus RideAs Daughter 





NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO! 

BKNZIGKR BROTHERS. 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 


C 

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UBR-KY v-f CON&‘^£S3 
Two Copies f?ec»|v«<i 


(WAR 17 1904 

1 C^pyrignt Entry 
/ 1 V.-CU-. ("y ^ / a c> ii- 
CLASS XXa No. 

8 2. O S U- 
COi-Y 8 



Copyright, 1904, by Benziger Brothers, 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Vnj.AGE Festival . . . . • 7 

CHAPTER II. 

In the Tent 34 

CHAPTER III. 

The Two Brothers 44 

CHAPTER IV. 

Plighted Troth 53 

CHAPTER V. 

The Se:.>aration 60 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Stormy Interview 67 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Red Carnations 77 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Frederic’s Discovery . . . 90 

CHAPTER IX. 


Some of the Characters Disappear 


. 102 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

PAGB 

The Proposal 106 

CHAPTER XI. 

Gra\’b Trials 113 

CHAPTER XII. 

At the Beacon 122 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Marie’s Unhappiness 128 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Marie Takes up a New Burden 137 

CHAPTER XV. 

Self-IB ACRiFicE 148 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The End of Will Wilthelm 156 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Jenny Reappears 163 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Henry Hears from His Mother 171 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Frederic Communicates with the Old Pastor .... 181 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Ending ........... 189 


THE FATAL BEACON 


CHAPTER I. 

THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 

Near the summit of one of a range of hills clothed with beech- 
wood, which forms the natural boundary of two districts in one 
of the lesser principalities of the German Empire, amid the cool 
shade and perfect tranquillity of the forest, is a small clearing, 
an open space round which a few giant trees, fir, beech, and oak, 
spread their sheltering branches. In this space, enclosed and en- 
circled by thick undergrowth. Nature is allowed free play, and 
displays all her varied beauty undisciplined by the ruling hand 
of man. It is carpeted with fine, short turf, enameled by a pro- 
fusion of little fiowers; the blossom of thyme scents the air, the 
harebell quivers on its slender stalk. In the center of this clearing 
is a mound, overgrown with grass and trailing plants, the top 
covered with fiat, gray stones. From the midst of these rises a 
bare, rugged wooden post, testifying no less plainly than the 
stones at its feet to long exposure to the action of the atmosphere. 
No one knows the origin or the meaning of this post ; its ruinlike 
appearance forms a sharp contrast to the sweet, gay surroundings 
of summer. Is it the relic of some ancient heathen altar ? Is it, 
perhaps, a boundary mark, left standing by the traditional rev- 
erence wherewith in old times boundary stones were regarded? 
At any rate it has stood there for generations past, nay, from 

7 


8 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


time immemorial; — and no one can even conjecture for how many 
years the summer sun and winter storm have beaten on that 
ancient landmark. 

The popular name given to it is the beacon.’^ It is sup- 
posed to date from heathen times, and in the folk-lore all manner 
of legends and superstitions are attached to it. “ The place is 
haunted; it is uncanny there; to touch the post brings mis- 
fortune f so say the people when questioned about it, but for the 
most part the antiquarian interest it possesses is little heeded. 

The calm summer night, without a ray of moonlight to break 
the gloom, on which we introduce the reader to the spot in ques- 
tion, is well calculated to sustain the ghostly character where- 
with it is invested. A weird whisper is heard among the branches, 
and the dry leaves, heaped together by the winter winds, rustle 
with a strange, mysterious sound. Spectral forms are seen to 
emerge one by one from the thicket and assemble round the 
hillock in the center in a group. There are six or eight persons 
altogether, and some of these are women. They all have their 
faces concealed as far as possible by their headgear; one might 
imagine they were members of a conspiracy, met to plot 
their dark designs, as they gather round the beacon and strike a 
light covertly. 

The principal personages present are a deformed man and an 
old woman. These two raise one of the stones composing the 
wall of the mound, and from the cavity thus disclosed they take 
a vessel, apparently full. Almost immediately a clinking sound 
is heard, as of money being counted. Not a word is spoken aloud, 
only in whispers, as the coin is reckoned and paid, as at a money- 
changer’s table. Money glitters in the hand of each, and is 
carefully concealed in an inner pocket. After a short time they 
disperse, all gliding away as noiselessly as they came. 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


9 


One after another the candles are extinguished. The little 
hunchback and the aged crone are the last to leave the spot. Be- 
fore departing they replace the flat stone, filling up the crevices 
with a little moss, so as to prevent the fact of its being movable 
being detected. A slight rustling is heard on the dry leaves as 
their footsteps die away — ^then all is still around the beacon, which, 
if formerly dedicated to the gods of antiquity, now appears, in 
spite of its lonely position, to be consecrated to the god of modern 
times, the god of gold. 

The whole neighborhood bears the same character for quiet 
and seclusion as this spot : far from the world’s highways, moun- 
tain rises above mountain, forest follows forest, and the region 
is sparsely populated. Even on the high road which runs near there 
is very little traffic, except in autumn, when the timber wagons, 
heavily laden, dig deep ruts in the soft earth. Only occasionally, 
in summer, there is a good deal of going to and. fro for a few 
days, at the time the yearly markets are held in the neighboring 
towns and villages. Although this means of transacting business 
may no longer be held in as much consideration in the country as 
formerly, yet the yearly market in the more remote regions is as 
great an event as ever as a means of intercourse for the country 
people. The chief town of the principality where the scene of 
this story is laid forms no exception. Even in the present day the 
yearly market is a matter of no slight importance, and no true 
son of the soil, be he peasant, farmer, or merchant, will neglect 
to attend it. Market day has become a festival, or fair day. Be- 
sides those who reside in the vicinity of the town where it is held, 
a large contingent of visitors comes from considerable distances to 
share in the festivities. 

Thus in the first week of August, in the year of which we are 
speaking, the highroad leading to the chief town was again to 


10 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


present an animated appearance. In the early morning after the 
nocturnal scene we have described a band of men were trudging 
along that road, their destination and the object of their journey 
being proclaimed by the musical instruments each one carried 
on his back or at his side, and which ever and anon glittered in the 
rising sun, as some opening in the forest glades was passed. 

The foremost of the men tramped steadily onward, seldom 
looking to right or left, while the boy who carried the drum panted 
after them. The one who brought up the rear, at whose side a 
French horn was slung, a tall, slim young fellow, seemed to pay 
little heed to his comrades. His whole appearance showed him 
to be of a different stamp, although his equipment was even 
less to boast of than theirs. The shooting- jacket he wore was 
threadbare and old, but there was something gentleman-like about 
it; it was a good cut and fitted well, and showed off his lithe 
figure to advantage. A gray cap was set jauntily on his fair, crisp 
curls ; his features were handsome and well formed, but his eyes 
were somewhat shifty, his complexion was pale, and had rather 
the blase look of one who had been too eager to quaff the cup of 
life’s pleasures. 

Hot only his dress, but everything about him bespoke the 
sportsman. As he passed through the forest he looked at the 
trees with evident interest, examined their growth with the eye 
of one who knew something about forest lore, or glanced keenly at 
the track left by some wild animal in the decaying leaves. His 
comrades had got a considerable distance ahead of him, but 
he seemed in no hurry to overtake them. When he got near the 
beacon he observed the snapped branches and the marks of feet 
in the ditch by the roadside, and this aroused his curiosity. He 
sprang lightly over the ditch, made his way through the under- 
growth, and soon came out upon the clearing. For a moment 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


11 


he stood staring in surprise at the singular, roughly-hewn old 
post, then a sudden recollection appeared to strike him. 

That is probably the beacon about which the old man used 
to talk,’^ he muttered. I did not know we were so near. One 
gets out of one^s reckonings with all this going to and fro.^^ His 
face clouded over, as if the memories awakened were anything but 
agreeable. 

He was just turning to leave the spot when a rustling in the 
branches on the other side made him look round. He saw he 
was no longer alone. The head of a young woman peeped out 
of the thicket, and two strong arms forced a way through the 
bushes. 

At first the girl stood still in astonishment at the sight of the 
young man, but she quickly turned away and helped an old woman 
out by the way she had come. The old woman also looked with 
surprise, if not suspicion, at the stranger, then she passed by him 
with apparent indifference. The girFs dress had caught upon a 
thorn, and the young man sprang forward to release her, but 
before he reached her she had freed herself by a good pull. Her 
dark, merry eyes met his, and with a smile on her rosy face she 
nodded her thanks ; then she jumped nimbly over the ditch on to 
the high road and hastened after her aged companion. 

The young man looked all the brighter for this unexpected 
meeting. He, too, quickly regained the road, and followed the 
two women at a quicker pace than that at which he had been 
walking. He soon caught up to the girl. She seemed to have 
no intention to keep beside the old woman — quite the contrary; 
and the other tramped on without heeding her. 

The girl looked about her continually — not always, perhaps, 
for the sake of admiring the beauties of nature. At any rate, her 
eyes chanced very often to rest upon the young fellow on the 


12 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


opposite side of the way, who with mathematical exactitude kept 
even step with her. He no longer heeded inanimate nature, but 
kept his gaze fixed on the young pedestrian, than whom he could 
not well have found a more attractive object. 

She could not be more than seventeen years of age, to judge 
by the child-like roundness of her countenance, whose chief charm 
consisted in a saucy, turned up nose, coral lips, and laughing 
brown eyes, shaded by somewhat thick eyebrows. About the 
average in height, her figure was well-knit and firmly built, as 
becomes a peasant girl. Both she and her companion wore the 
costume of the country, and evidently belonged to the peasantry. 
The short, stiff petticoat did not detract from the girFs natural 
grace; a black bodice fitted closely to her full bosom, a kerchief 
was knotted loosely round her neck, and the white sleeves of her 
chemisette only half covered her brown but shapely arms. The 
tall black cap which completes the local costume she had replaced 
by a light handkerchief, which did not conceal her thick plaits, 
and added to her rustic charms. Both she and the older woman 
carried enormous baskets on their arms; it is the custom in that 
part of the country, and scarcely ever is a feminine figure seen 
without this adjunct. , 

In the girFs walk, and in the way she carried her head, there 
was something bold and self -asserting, and despite her youth she 
knew well how to exchange glances with the sterner sex. It was 
surprising how artfully she contrived to evade the young man’s 
searching gaze, then unexpectedly to turn her dark eyes full on 
him. The end of it all was that the distance between her and 
him gradually diminished, and that between the two young people 
and the old woman, who had gone on in advance, proportionately 
increased. 

The young man first ventured to bid the girl good morning. 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


13 


but she did not return the courtesy. On his approaching so close 
as to be almost at her side, she asked him if the road was not wide 
enough for two — ^there was no necessity to walk close together. 
This coyness on her part did not, however, repulse him. With a 
laugh he said it was pleasanter to walk in company, so as to 
exchange a word now and then; and to carry on the conversation 
he inquired how far it was to Arensen. 

According to the pace one walks,” was the snappish reply. 

If you go on as you are going now, your comrades will be there 
half an hour sooner than you,” she added, pointing to the other 
musicians, who had nearly reached the top of the hill. 

The young man laughed again. ^^A pleasant delay on a 
journey is no loss of time,” he said. You need not hurry after 
your grandmother so fast, my pretty maid, as to spare no time 
for us to have a little chat. If you belong to this part of the 
country perhaps you will be able to tell me what that old thing 
is up there in the place where I just saw you? ” 

^^They call it the beacon,” the girl answered, in a more 
sociable manner, but I do not know much about it. It is said to 
be bewitched, and the place haunted.” 

Well, well, if there are always such pretty witches to be met 
there as I found to-day, so much the better. I shall go there 
again for a rendezvous some time or other,” he said carelessly, 
with a meaning glance at the girl. 

She, however, evidently did not understand him. Yet she 
was by no means averse to having a companion on the long, lonely 
way, one, too, who made no secret of his admiration for her. Con- 
sequently she showed no reluctance to answer his further inquiry 
as to the distance from thence to the boundary of the state. 

About eight miles from here,” she said. The way through 
the forest passes through G-ubstedt and Dreesen ; two miles further 


14 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


is the boundary.” She went on to inform him that a short cut 
could be made, if, instead of going through the places mentioned, 
a footpath from the beacon through the wood was taken, which 
came out by the mill-stream in the valley; that was the way she 
had come, as she lived by the mill. 

Oh, you live there ? ” he exclaimed. Then I must have 
made acquaintance already with your amiable grandmother. We 
stopped there yesterday evening and meant to cheer you with 
some of our music, but she was not graciously pleased to approve 
of our visit. We met with nothing but sharp words and snappish 
dogs in the old owl’s nest. Why did you not give us a sight of 
your face, miss, that we might have had something at least for 
our trouble? Your old grandmother is a regular shrew! ” 

She is not my grandmother,” the girl replied. Only my 
godmother. I do not wonder that she wanted nothing of you 
musicians, for she is as deaf as a post, and as stingy as a miser. 
jN’o one knows better than I do how she can scold; she does noth- 
ing else all day long.” 

^^Well, I would not make much of my connection with the 
old woman — it would not be to your advantage to be like her, my 
girl. To be deaf is not her worst fault — ^there is no need for her 
to hear all one has to say to a pretty maid,” he went on, with a 
laugh. ^^How can such a sweet child as you are bury yourself 
in such a God-forsaken hole with that old dragon? It makes one 
really sorry for a bright young thing like you.” 

have no other home or means of support,” the girl re- 
joined, half sorrowfully. 

‘^What does that matter? It is the same with you as with 
me. Those who have nothing to keep have nothing to lose,” he 
remarked gaily. Your pretty face is your fortune. A bird with 
such fine feathers is sure to find a warm nest; you certainly 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


15 


ought not to remain in the haunt of foxes and dogs; you ought 
to be in a town, where you would see something of the world; 
see how delightful life is, and how merry one can be ! One is not 
always young, and Fortune only smiles on those who court hor/’ 
This speech found an echo in the hearer’s heart, and woke 
many a dormant desire. The frequent use of '^pretty” and 
charming,” as applied to herself was, besides, very flattering. 
Yet her natural sagacity could not refrain from showing, by a 
somewhat scornful smile and a signiflcant glance, when he spoke 
of the pursuit of prosperity, that for all his flne words, it did not 
appear that Dame Fortune had been very propitious in his regard. 

He caught the meaning of her look directly. Perhaps you 
think I am not an instance of the truth of what I say ? That de- 
pends on what one calls happiness. All my life long I have pre- 
ferred a jovial hour to a full purse, and a boon companion to a 
starchy old Philistine. To look at you, I should think you were 
just such another, my girl — fonder of the dance than the spin- 
ning-wheel. When we strike up in Arensen to-day there will be 
play for your little feet ; I bet you will be one of the nimblest ! ” 
Little enough shall I get of that sort of thing,” she re- 
joined sadly. The old woman always goes home when the 
amusement is at its height, and I have to carry all her purchases 
for her. Do you play in the tent or on the green ? ” she inquired 
with evident eagerness. 

In the tent ! We are formally engaged to take the place of 
His Highness’ own band, who just now are playing in a health 
resort for His Highness’ delectation, and his loyal subjects must 
not be deprived of music. We are, besides, a very good band, 
eleven men; we call ourselves Thuringians, but we hail from all 
parts of Germany, not always easy to say exactly what part. As 
OUT bandmaster and director is a native of these valleys, he was 


16 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL, 


honored by the invitation to charm the ears of the cream of 
society in this part of the world/^ Thus he chattered on, heed- 
less whether the girl understood him or not. His way of talking, 
though frivolous and familiar, had in it something of the re- 
finement of a class superior to that to which his calling showed 
him to belong. Such a sweet little one as you, love, will soon 
enough find a gallant partner; then your brown, star-like eyes 
will cease to shine on a poor musician ! he concluded, plaintively. 

The girl shrugged her shoulders impatiently at this speech, 
in which she detected a covert irony. Her dark eyes glanced at 
him with a defiance that added to their attraction. 

You know as well as I do that I shall not get into the tent,” 
she said. For the matter of that, though, my father was a 
player; he had just such a thing as you have there,” and she 
pointed to the French horn. M'\; father went about a great deal ; 
he was one of a Bohemian band.” 

^^Look there, my pretty love; we are already friends,” ex- 
claimed the young fellow merrily, and without more ado he put 
his arm round the girl, drawing her so close to him that his face 
came suspiciously near her rosy cheeks. 

The girl made no attempt to keep him at a distance — ^his bold 
manner seemed to give him great mastery over her. Suddenly, 
just as this love scene was being enacted, a loud blast was heard, 
at which unexpected sound the two flew apart in alarm. The 
girl, more especially, seemed very nervous at the shrill inter- 
ruption, as she could not imagine whence it came. The first 
blast was soon followed by a second and more merry one, pealing 
down from the top of the hill, from which the musicians, having 
descried their comrade, sent a loud call to summon him to rejoin 
them. 

The young fellow grasped the situation immediately. The 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


17 


fools ! he muttered. Do they think I am going to ruin my 
lungs with hurrying up these heights ? Do not put yourself out, 
love/^ he said, again addressing his companion, you and I have 
met each other — Here his tender philandering was put a stop 
to by a not very gentle push from the girl. She, too, had looked 
up to the top of the hill, and made an unwelcome discovery. The 
old woman’s ears were not quite impervious to the shrill blast of 
the clarion ; she had stopped in a fright and looked round for her 
companion, whom she believed to be following close in her wake. 
She was by no means pleased to see how far she was behind, and 
with an imperious gesture she signified her anger. Whether the 
old woman had seen what had gone on before the girl did not 
know, and the fear of a scolding made her separate roughly from 
her fellow-traveler. 

Keep away ! You have done harm enough already with your 
rubbish. I shall be taken nicely to task presently,” she said, as 
she quickened her pace with a very cross look at him. 

‘^All right, pretty one,” he returned coolly. J^It is a pity 
though to part in this way. I hope you will be in a better temper 
in Arensen, when we meet there, as we surely shall. It is not 
well to be a third party in family squabbles,” he added with a 
laugh, as he remarked that the old woman raised a threatening 
hand even before the girl got up to her. So he wisely kept his 
distance. Yet he was sorry for the poor girl. We must give 
the old mother something to speak about before she is quite out 
of breath.” So saying, actuated by a sudden impulse, he put the 
horn to his lips and blew a blast as if in answer to the one that 
had recently woke the echoes of the silent forest. 

His purpose was attained; the old woman was so startled at 
the sound, coming as it did from behind, close behind her, that 
her scolding died away on her lips. She muttered something 


18 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


about insolent vagabonds as the young man passed her shortly 
afterward and politely raised his hat in mock greeting. 

In spite of her annoyance, the girl had not been able to refrain 
from smiling at the audacious mode of interference, nor did she 
fail to observe that he slyly kissed his hand to her, though the 
old woman bade her not look after such fellows. She was a little 
sorry at having parted from him so rudely, and looked longingly 
after him till a turn in the road hid him from sight. He was, 
after all, no despicable acquaintance for a girl of seventeen to 
think about. 

The girl had plenty of time for reflecting whether she was 
likely to meet him again at Arensen as she trudged silently and 
wearily along behind the old woman. They soon got into the 
main road. But the road through the forest was not deserted; 
merry laughter was heard, mingled with the sound of horses’ 
hoofs and of wheels. An open vehicle, strongly built and brightly 
painted — a sort of compromise between an ordinary cart and the 
more pretentious chaise or dog-cart, which is often in use among 
farmers in the country; — was making its way with difficulty among 
the deep ruts of the road. The occupants, both the two women on 
the back seat and the young man who was driving, belonged un- 
mistakably to the class of farmers. A rural, unsophisticated fresh- 
ness, something uncouth and blunt, if you will, such as is en- 
gendered by a life of practical activity, is found in that class in 
conjunction with town breeding and middle-class education. 
Farmers have a share in town and country ; in some respects, like 
landed proprietors, they come in a great part from the bourgeois 
class and have much in common with them. 

The rustic want of polish was more strongly marked in one 
of the young women than in the other. Her dress, though by no 
means unfashionable, showed want of taste in its glaring colors 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


19 


and the material of which it was made. All about her was too 
bright, from the round, ruddy cheeks of her comely countenance 
to the gay shawl wrapped about her robust figure. The ring on her 
hand browned and roughened by hard work, released from the 
unwelcome restraint of gloves, showed her to be a married woman, 
and a certain self-confidence of demeanor proclaimed her the pro- 
prietress of the conveyance. 

The young woman at her side was very unassuming in appear- 
ance ; compared with her sturdy friend she looked almost delicate. 
The most striking trait about her was the modest, maidenly ex- 
pression of her pale countenance, and the intelligent look in her 
gray eyes, which, shaded by long lashes, had something very at- 
tractive about them. 

So the young man on the coach-box seemed to think, for al- 
though the road was none of the smoothest, he was incessantly 
turning round to behold those gray eyes, although he addressed 
himself chiefly to the other lady. The consequence of this be- 
havior on his part was felt in the violent jolts the chaise sustained ; 
jolts which the greatest care on so rough a road was not able 
wholly to avoid. Now and again, at some very rough jerk, his 
mistress would laughingly chide the inattentive driver and jest- 
ingly allude to the cause of his carelessness. These jests were 
evidently not very acceptable, but they did not dampen the high 
spirits of the little party. The prospective amusements of the 
day, especially the dance in the tent, were the chief topic of their 
conversation. The young man depicted their delights to the girl, 
who apparently was a stranger to them. 

Suddenly he broke off his description of the fete. ^^Miss 
Marie,’^ he said, we must not pass by without heeding this place. 
You must see all that is worth seeing here — the antiquities our 
wood can boast. Mrs. Wallmuth, will you not show Miss 


20 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


Schmittler the beacon? It is only a few yards from here.” As 
he spoke he stopped the carriage. 

Marie looked up inquiringly, full of interest; perhaps any 
suggestion coming from him would have been interesting. What 
is the beacon?” she asked, evidently desirous of seeing it. 

"The beacon? An old rugged post, really nothing at all to 
look at,” her companion answered. "It is scarcely worth the 
trouble of alighting. But if you think, Wilthelm, that Miss Marie 
ought to see it you may undertake the office of guide. You know 
more about the thing than I do, and I certainly can hold the horses 
as well as you, for my head will not be always over my shoulders.” 

The young man was too much pleased at the proposal to 
resent the banter. " Will you accept me as cicerone. Miss Marie ? ” 
he asked. " It is, after all, only an old bit of wood, but it dates 
from ages long past. No one knows why or how it was placed 
there, yet there must be something preternatural about it, since 
it has stood for centuries in that lonely place, untouched by human 
hand.” 

" People say misfortune is sure to come on any one who 
touches it, so take care,” said Mrs. Wallmuth. "Now, Marie, 
make up your mind. Only do not forget, you two, that you are 
not the only people in the world. I shall be waiting here, and 
my husband is waiting in Arensen for all of us.” 

Mrs. Wallmuth’s raillery almost made the girl waver in her 
determination. But the young man stood ready to help her 
down, and with a rising color she complied with his wish ; yet she 
declined his assistance in climbing the bank and making her way 
through the undergrowth. 

When the two emerged on to the open space, all was still and 
deserted there. Not the slightest breeze was stirring ; the branches 
of the trees, clothed in foliage of varied tint and shade, glistened 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL, 


21 


in the sunshine that broke through the summits of the trees. 
Only a few butterflies that noiselessly fluttered from one tall 
stalk to another, or a shining beetle sunning itself on the wall, 
gave life to the scene. 

In the broad daylight the profound tranquillity seemed even 
more preternatural than under the veil of night, and this feeling 
was heightened by the ancient monument’ in the center. Yet it 
was not only the deep repose of the scene that impressed the two 
young people so powerfully as they stood together in that lonely 
spot. Their merry chatter ceased; neither of them had a word 
to say. 

They were a handsome couple, those two. Beside her essen- 
tially feminine personality his manly figure, tall and muscular, 
with its small, well-set head, covered with fair curls, showed to 
advantage. His decided features, too, bespoke vigor and energy, 
and his countenance bore an expression of singular frankness 
and honesty, and at the same time of resolution, as if he had 
already learned by experience that life was not all sunshine. Thus 
his blue eyes looked out on the world more gravely than cheerily ; 
at the present time they rested with a thoughtful expression on 
his companion. 

She felt his gaze fixed on her; felt, too, with a sense of un- 
easiness, that she must put a stop to the tension of the moment. 

Oh, here is gentian ! she exclaimed, pointing to some blue 
flowers growing on the mound. Gentian such as we have on 
our mountains ! ” 

Those words broke the spell. The young man at once stooped 
forward to gather the flowers which would afford a welcome topic 
of conversation. As he bent down, he seemed to brush slightly 
against the post. 

" Oh! do not touch it! Do not let your hand go against it; 


22 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL, 


it will bring misfortune ! ” she cried in alarm, laying her hand 
on his arm to hold him back. 

He raised himself up, a gleam of pleasure lighting his counte- 
nance ; and he took hold of the hand that trembled on his account. 

To bear misfortune for your sake. Miss Marie,’^ he began, his 
voice betraying an emotion which at such times is fraught with 
meaning, and often causes a young girl’s heart to beat more 
quickly. 

By a curious coincidence it so happened that at this critical 
instant that trumpet blast which, as we have seen, put an end to 
the bold, unbecoming familiarity of one couple, broke off the timid 
overtures of another swain. The sound, as it reached the two 
friends beside the beacon, was rendered soft and mysterious by 
distance ; yet fairy-like as it was, it added to the weird impression. 

No less startled than the man and the maid on the highway, 
these two sprang apart and looked round as if to ascertain whence 
the sound came. It is uncanny here,” Marie cried, turning 
away in alarm, while Wilthelm tried to reassure her by saying 
there must be a huntsman somewhere in the forest. But in vain 
did he attempt to go on as if nothing had happened; Marie de- 
clared that Mrs. Wallmuth would be growing impatient, and in 
fact, the spot seemed to inspire her with horror. She took the 
little bunch of gentian from Wilthelm, and at his request, gave 
him back one of the flowers, then she hurried away. Just as 
they issued from the thicket, he helping her with assiduous at- 
tention, the second musical blast resounded through the wood. 

“ My goodness, Wilthelm, did you order a flourish of trumpets 
in our honor? or is the spot really bewitched?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Wallmuth as soon as they appeared, regardless of the blushes her 
words called to their cheeks. ^^No; leave the horses alone. I 
can hold them in. Let Miss Marie get in first,” she added, with 


THE YILLAOB FESTIVAL. 


28 


a firm hand restraining the animals, whom the unwonted sounds 
rendered restive. Come, Marie,’^ she continued. Mr. Wilt- 
helm has done quite enough in providing this serenade for you. 
Let us hope he will now keep quiet and pay heed to his duties as 
coachman.” 

This raillery was not altogether palatable to the young people, 
but they were accustomed to their friend’s ways. Wilthelm did 
as was desired of him, and Marie persistently kept her face 
averted from the curious gaze of her friend, who nevertheless 
did not fail to observe the traces of agitation, nor to remark the 
blue blossom in the young man’s button-hole, on which he from 
time to time cast a glance of pride and pleasure. 

Urged on to greater speed, the horses soon reached the high- 
road and overtook the two women who were Journeying on foot. 
The musicians were no longer in sight, as they had turned aside 
to rest in a neighboring village. The old woman and her com- 
panion trudged on sturdily, yet the former showed signs of weari- 
ness as the heat of the day increased. When the carriage passed 
she turned on it a look of unmistakable longing, a look which 
was not lost on the occupants of the vehicle. 

In the country it is a very usual thing to give wayfarers a 
lift. Farmers especially, whose horses are accustomed to hard 
work, do not fear taking an extra passenger. The young man 
noticed the woman’s wistful glance, and Marie’s ejaculation. 
Poor old thing 1 ” caused him to slacken his horses’ pace, and 
look inquiringly at Mrs. Wallmuth. 

Let her get up — you will not like to drive on without her. 
The young woman can walk. We shall come to rising ground 
directly, and that will tax the horses,” the owner of the vehicle 
said, while Wilthelm beckoned to the two women. 

The old one availed herself unhesitatingly of the permission, 


24 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


nodded her thanks, and with the girl’s help mounted to the seat 
beside the driver. The loud voice in which the girl spoke to her 
made known her infirmity. Her basket, which might have been 
in the driver’s way, she handed back to her companion. 

I am sorry we can not take you up as well,” Wilthelm said, 
as he observed the girl’s flushed face and the additional load laid 
upon her. 

The baskets might be put in behind,” Marie said, looking at 
Mrs. Wallmuth questioningly. 

Never mind — ^this is all right,” the girl answered, rather 
defiantly. 

She was disappointed that the invitation did not include her- 
self, but without losing her presence of mind, she quickly twisted 
the kerchief on her head into a cushion, upon which she set one 
of the baskets, and with the other on her arm, stepped out lustily. 

Everything was becoming to so pretty a girl; taking off her 
kerchief displayed the thick brown plaits deftly wound round her 
well-shaped head. In spite of the added burden her step was as 
elastic as ever and her eye no less merry and bold. Involuntarily 
they all looked at her. 

If she works as vigorously as she walks she must get a good 
deal done in the day,” remarked Mrs. Wallmuth, who always took 
a practical view of things. 

^^How very pretty she is,” Marie whispered, and Wilthelm, 
who listened to every word Marie said, nodded acquiescence. It 
was natural that he should give a glance now and then to the 
good-looking pedestrian, who no more evaded meeting his eye than 
she had evaded the more daring gaze of her former companion 
in the forest road. In fact, she looked searchingly at him once 
or twice, as if there were something about him she could not quite 
make out. Marie was not over well pleased to observe her way 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


25 


of looking at him, but before long a circumstance occurred that 
showed she could make a better use of her eyes. 

The chaise had got to the top of another hill when a call 
from the girl, who had almost kept up with it, warned them. 

^^The axle-pin is out of the wheel,’’ she cried. The next 
moment she had set down her baskets and come up to the wheel 
whence the pin that held it in its place had dropped. 

Wilthelm pulled up the horses and leaped 'from his seat. The 
ladies were also going to alight, but the girl bade them keep their 
places. She knew what had to be done, and with a strong, skilful 
hand, she helped the young man to readjust the wheel that had 
slipped. 

The pin must be somewhere close by,” she said, as Wilthelm 
began to look about for the lost treasure. It was in all right 
when you drove by us. I will see if I can not find it.” 

Before the others could answer a word she was off down the 
hill. She must have had to go a considerable distance, but she 
came back in a wonderfully short time, flushed crimson with 
hurrying, the lost pin in her hand. Every one thanked her most 
heartily; Mrs. Wallmuth especially praised her quick, obliging 
manner. After the fatigue and trouble the girl had taken on 
their behalf, she could not let her go on walking, and invited 
her to join them. If we sit a little closer together there will be 
plenty of room,” she said. 

I will get up behind in the place where the luggage goes. 
Then when we come to a steep place I can easily get down and 
walk,” she added, a remark which was to Mrs. Wallmuth’s heart’s 
content. A moment more and the girl had climbed up to the 
place indicated. This was exactly behind the seat occupied by 
the other two women, so that her smiling face showed between 
their heads, and when Wilthelm turned round he looked full into 


26 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


her bright brown eyes. As all along he had been constantly 
looking behind him it was nothing new that he should do so now. 

Yet Marie Schmittler felt — she did not know why — ^that his 
doing so no longer pleased her as it did before, and it annoyed 
her that the girl addressed all her remarks to Wilthelm, as if he 
were her friend among the party. 

Mrs. Wallmuth learned, in answer to her queries, that the old 
woman was the owner of the mill in the valley, and that the 
young woman was her godchild. Thus they found they were 
neighbors, since the land the Wallmuths farmed was not half an 
hour’s walk from the mill. The newcomer on her part soon gath- 
ered in course of conversation that the young man was the bailiff 
or steward of the farm, that Mrs. Wallmuth was the mistress, 
and Marie either a relative or at any rate an inmate of the house. 

Wilthelm expressed his surprise that they had not seen one 
another before, as they lived so near, but the girl accounted for 
this by the isolated situation of the mill, and complained of the 
strange ways of the old woman, who would neither let any one 
come to the house nor permit her to go out. Mrs. Wallmuth con- 
firmed the truth of this statement. She had heard of the peculiari- 
ties of the old woman, and also that she was very well off, although 
but little business was done at the mill now. Was it true, she 
asked, that she was well to do and yet lived in such penury as 
people said she did? 

The girl shrugged her shoulders. She could not tell, she 
replied, whether her godmother was rich or no; all she knew 
was that she treated her like a dog. 

Wilthelm glanced at the old woman on hearing this forcible 
expression, fearing lest she should have noticed it, but she was 
apparently asleep. Besides, the girl averred, she was too deaf to 
have heard it even had she been wide awake. 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


27 


The old woman had begun to nod as soon as she had got 
up into the carriage. When it suddenly stopped she asked what 
was the matter, and then relapsed into a semi-lethargic state. On 
Mrs. Wallmuth’s expressing wonder that, considering the old 
woman’s hermit-like habits, she should undertake the fatiguing 
journey to the market at Arensen, she was informed that it was 
her habit to do so every year, and that she went elsewhere also on 
business. Just over the frontier there lived a cousin of hers, a 
little misshapen fellow whom she visited sometimes and who came 
to see her from time to time. People said they often saw a light 
burning all night through in the mill when he was there, and 
large sums of money were brought to her; but she herself, the 
girl said, never knew what it was to have a few groschen to bless 
herself with all the time she had lived at the mill. Wilthelm asked 
how long she had been there, and what her name was. She an- 
swered that she had been three years with her godmother, and her 
name was Jane Wittkopf, but of her father’s family she had noth- 
ing but the name. She was told that she took after her mother, 
who came from Bohemia; from her she had her black hair and 
eyes, and her voice, for she could sing. Her father had always 
called her Jenny, which was her mother’s name ; she had to thank 
the old woman for the ugly name J ane. On Wilthelm’s inquiring 
where her father hailed from, and how it came about that he mar- 
ried a foreigner, she replied that he was born not far from 
Dreesen, had wandered about as an itinerant musician, and 
brought home his wife from a distance. Her mother had died 
young, she had never known her. Her father, too, she said, died 
without having provided for his children, so that they had to be 
brought up by strangers. 

Wilthelm remarked that the old woman had at least deserved 
praise in fulfilling her duty as godparent; but the girl merely 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


pouted her rosy lips, and said the old woman only became alive 
to that obligation when she had become old enough to work ; until 
then she had not troubled herself as to what happened to the 
child. She had to work hard enough for her food and clothes. 
She could not bear it much longer, she went on, getting more ex- 
cited, she had rather die than go on living with the wicked old 
crone in that lonely place. She had no one who cared for her or 
who felt for her. She often thought it would be better to seek 
her fortune in the wide world. As she said the last words she 
burst into tears. Perhaps the seductive pictures which her former 
companion had portrayed were now producing their effect on her 
imagination. 

Wilthelm was struck dumb by this sudden outburst of emo- 
tion, but Marie’s tender heart was touched. Up to that time she 
had taken no part in the conversation, but at the sight of the 
fast-flowing tears she turned to the girl, herself almost ready to 
cry, and spoke in gentle, kind terms to the poor child, whose for- 
lorn condition she pitied ; in fact, she blamed herself for having 
judged her harshly. Almighty God, she said to her to console 
her, cared for orphans, and when need was highest, help was 
nighest. If there was no obligation for her to stay with the old 
woman, then she could easily find a situation with some kind 
people, where she would be treated better. Perhaps it was for 
that very reason that Providence caused her to fall in with them 
that day ; if she trusted in God, all would turn out well. Marie’s 
soft voice and kind manner evidently had a soothing effect on the 
untrained girl ; she fixed her large eyes on her with reverence as 
well as surprise. 

Certainly she did not seem to know much about confidence in 
God. The Almighty, she declared between her sobs, had sent her 
many bitter and very few happy days. But she soon wiped her 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


29 


eyes and laughed again, when Marie, not content with words, 
proceeded to give more substantial consolation in the form of a 
piece of money which she took from her purse and slipped into 
the girFs hand : To buy something pretty in the market,” she 
said. The impulsive girl kissed her hand in thanks — an action 
quite contrary to the custom of those parts. 

Marie had been able to dispense her solace unobserved, for 
Mrs. Wallmuth, tired by the long drive, was dozing. She woke 
up, however, when they drew near their destination, and there 
was more traffic on the road. The concourse to the market was 
from all directions ; groups of peasants and tradespeople on foot, 
wagons laden with country people, and light vehicles of all kinds, 
were passed; greetings were constantly exchanged with friends 
and acquaintances. This led Wilthelm to ask whether Marie ex- 
pected to meet any of her relatives in Arensen. 

Marie answered that the village of Wiesen always sent its 
quota to swell the number of visitors, and her father had not 
missed going there for many long years ; but her mother scarcely 
ever left home. On his part Wilthelm said his father used at one 
time to be there without fail, and he had often met Mr. Schmit- 
tler there; the two were old acquaintances, as they had served 
together in the army, and now his father had sent kind messages 
to Schmittler, in case he should see him. While he spoke Wilthelm 
was busy with the horses, so that he did not notice a shade of em- 
barrassment on Marie^s countenance as she answered that her 
fafther was rather peculiar and kept very much to himself. 

The clamor of voices and the turmoil and bustle of the market 
was now heard so plainly that further conversation was impos- 
sible. The carriage turned on to the green outside the town, 
where the market was held, and drew up in the space assigned 
to vehicles so that they might not interfere with the carrying 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


on of business. Jenny had jumped down from her seat 
some time before, but had kept up with the carriage, and was 
ready to help its occupants to alight. But when Marie’s turn 
came, Wilthelm was beforehand with her, and perhaps his hand 
held Marie’s rather longer and pressed it more firmly than oc- 
casion required. 

A slight disappointment awaited the new arrivals. Mrs. Wall- 
muth expected to meet her husband there. He had ridden over 
to Arensen in the early morning, for the real business of the day 
began betimes. But owing to the various delays they had en- 
countered on the way, when the little party arrived the hour ap- 
pointed for Mr. Wallmuth to meet them was far past, and he was 
nowhere to be seen. 

Mrs. Wallmuth and Marie shrank from going into the noisy, 
crowded market without an escort. Wilthelm would gladly 
have offered to accompany them, but it would not do to leave the 
carriage and horses. While Mrs. Wallmuth looked about her in 
perplexity, Jenny, in her quick way, volunteered to keep watch 
over the carriage, and thus set him at liberty to go to the market. 
The old woman had purchases to make for which she was not 
wanted, Jenny said, and raising her voice, she explained to her the 
state of things. She looked rather cross, but made no objection, 
and after thanking her benefactress as curtly as possible, she went 
her way. 

Jenny mounted the coach-box and took the reins with a very 
important air. Every trace of her former gloom vanished when 
Mrs. Wallmuth stepped up and gave her a gratuity in return for 
her good offices. Although this was not as uncalled for or as lib- 
eral as the gift Marie’s compassionate heart had bestowed, yet 
Jenny’s face beamed with delight. The possession of this unex- 
pected wealth was to open to her the doors of all manner of enjoy- 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


SI 


ment. She had abundance of time to depict them to herself, as 
she was left in charge longer than she expected. 

The way to the booths and tents was not far, but at Marie’s 
side Wilthelm forgot how the time passed. Friends and ac- 
quaintances turned up every minute, and they must stop and 
speak to each. Mr. Wallmuth, too, was soon found; he would 
have undertaken to escort the ladies, but Wilthelm thought he 
must go with them as far as the large tent, in order to arrange 
where they should meet later on. When at last he tore himself 
away, he felt quite remorseful to think how long he had left that 
poor girl sitting in the broiling sun amid all the turmoil. 

As some compensation for his heedlessness, he took with him 
a glass of beer and a roll, besides one of the gingerbread cakes 
in the shape of a heart, which all village beauties expect to get 
at a fair. On coming up he found the girl sitting patiently at 
her post. She had employed the interval in completing her toilet, 
adding to the slight costume in which she had been walking 
a jacket taken from the bottom of her basket, and a white apron. 
She looked more presentable when thus arrayed, but less pictur- 
esque. Despite the long time she had been left waiting she 
smiled pleasantly at Wilthelm, and protested that it did not 
matter in the least that he had stayed away so long; and she ac- 
cepted gratefully the refreshments he brought. As the young 
fellow was in the best of spirits himself, he loitered awhile chat- 
ting with her, and after the fashion of the country drank from 
the glass which she once and again handed to him, after putting 
it to her own rosy lips. Then all at once he remembered it 
was high time to rest the horses, and got on the box to drive to 
some inn where they could be put up. 

As he drove away, the girl looked after him with the same 
peculiar thoughtful expression with which she had fixed her eyes 


32 


THE TILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


on him several times that day. As yet what puzzled her was 
not explained. Then she bethought herself she would like to go 
to the center of the merry making, and was turning to go thither, 
not without the good intention of first trying to find her god- 
mother, when she was arrested by a touch on the shoulder. 

Looking round, she found herself face to face with the com- 
panion she had picked up that morning in the forest. Now,’^ 
he said, ^^did not I say right that you would provide yourself 
with a grand cavalier ? Heigho ! a fine gentleman with a carriage 
and horses. I saw how familiarly you were chatting together, and 
he has actually bought you a gingerbread heart! Nay, never 
fear; I shall not be jealous, pretty one.” Thus he ran on in his 
flighty way, keeping close by the girl’s side, while she quickened 
her pace as if she was not inclined to listen to him. 

^^No; I shall not be jealous,” he went on. ^^Did not I tell 
you that you had only to show your face in the world to make 
your fortune ? So you have left your amiable grandmother in the 
lurch? So much the better. But if your rich friend can do no 
more than treat you to a wretched glass of beer, I know better 
what is due to a pretty girl than he does, poor beggar though I 
am.” 

On the girl’s asking timidly whether he had only just arrived, 
he answered that the band had already played in two villages, as 
they were not to begin there until afternoon; so there was still 
half an hour tc spare which he would spend with her. See,” 
he said, how destiny brings us together ! I am the first person 
you meet here, and now we will drink a glass together that we 
may meet later on, and that you may find your tongue again.” 
So saying, with other flattering words, he led the girl into one 
of the refreshment booths and called for a bottle of wine and a 
piece of cake. There, now, eat and drink, my girl,” he said, as 


THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 


he placed an ample slice of cake before her. ‘^You see I owe 
you no grudge even though you parted from me rather abruptly. 
You are my sweetheart, no one else’s.’^ He made her touch glasses 
with him, and looked full in her face, while he put his arm round 
her slim waist. 

The girl was half bewildered by all she had gone through and 
all that had been said to her. The flattery, to which she was un- 
accustomed, was enough to turn her head. She drank the sweet 
wine and did not refuse the cake, but all the while a thought 
occupied her mind as she stared at the young man beside her. 
Did her senses deceive her? Had she not just before seen the 
same fair curls, the same features, the same figure? 

Before she could get clear on the subject that perplexed her, 
the musician had emptied the bottle, paid the score with a some- 
what braggart air, and declared that he must go. In the after- 
noon, about six o’clock, he would be free for a time, and would 
meet her by the large tent. By that time he hoped her tongue 
would be unloosed, he said, as he took his departure. 

She stood at the entrance to the tent looking after him for 
awhile. He is just like the other, and the other is like him,” 
she said, putting her hand to her head, as if the unwonted in- 
dulgence in alcoholic drink had muddled her senses. 


B4 


IN THE TENT, 


CHAPTER IL 

m THE TENT. 

'*^The other,” as the girl designated him, had meanwhile 
betaken himself to the town to have his tired horses fed and 
groomed. Although too good a farmer not to see to this duty, 
he seemed in a hurry — an unusual thing with him, and the garru- 
lous innkeeper, who dearly loved a chat with his customers, could 
hardly get a word out of him. 

Although he appeared in a hurry, yet Wilthelm spent more 
time and care on his person than he was accustomed to do. He 
had brought with him a better coat and a less countrified pair of 
boots, and he stood some time before the glass, arranging his un- 
ruly curls. The host observed this, and concluded that when a 
grave young man like Frederic Wilthelm begins to attach im- 
portance to such things, there must be the usual reason for it; 
and he would gladly have learned the truth about it, but no in- 
formation could he obtain from the young man except that he 
had driven in with the Wallmuths. When at length he made his 
way to the green, his toilet repaid the pains expended on it. 
Despite his calling of farmer, there was something more of the 
sportsman in his appearance. In his green jacket and jaunty 
huntsman’s hat he would have been taken for a young forester; 
even his bearing and walk suggested this idea. 

Perhaps this tendency was inherited ; his father, whose family 
were foresters, had held a post in the Woods and Forests Service 
and married a forester’s daughter. If Frederic Wilthelm had 


IN THE TENT. 


85 


followed Ills inclination, he would have kept to the same 
service, but his wish to get a good situation as early as 
possible had induced him to take the superintendence of a 
farm. All was not as it should be in his home. His father 
had worn the king’s uniform, was rather a fast young 
fellow, and had been appointed as assistant to an old for- 
ester, who had the supervision of a large tract of forest on a 
nobleman’s estate in Prussia. The young man married the old 
man’s daughter, and on his retiring after a long term of service, 
the post was given to his son-in-law. 

Ho one knew what obliged Wilthelm to resign that good post 
while he was still in the prime of life. It was whispered at the 
time that the heir to the estate found that his affairs had been 
much mismanaged, and it was only attachment to Wilthelm’s 
father-in-law that prevented him from instituting legal proceed- 
ings against the young man. At any rate the charges against him 
were sufficiently serious to hinder him from getting another 
situation, and he, with his family, took up his abode with his 
wife’s parents, by no means to their satisfaction. Wilthelm 
cared but little for his dismissal ; he had always got all the pleas- 
ure he could out of life, living far above his station while in the 
enjoyment of a good salary, and now that he had lost it, not de- 
priving himself of any indulgence within his reach. He left the 
charge of maintaining his family to his wife’s parents, reproach- 
ing them for having led him to expect she would have a large 
dowry. The poor woman herself had to put up with much neglect 
and unkindness ; her parents, besides, did not fail to remind her 
that they had strongly disapproved of her engagement to so un- 
steady a young man. 

Under such circumstances the parental roof was no happy 
home for the children. Several died young, only the two oldest 


36 


IN THE TENT. 


boys and the youngest girls grew np. The pretentious education 
given by the father to the eldest boy at the time of his prosperity 
had a most baneful effect upon him, and he was a continual 
source of anxiety and grief to the family. The second son, 
Frederic, who was only a few years his junior, had inherited his 
mother’s grave disposition, and the change of circumstances which 
occurred in his boyhood, together with his brother’s sad example, 
impressed him deeply. He early learned the consequences of 
frivolity, and his steady, independent character led him to en- 
deavor as soon as possible to earn his own living. 

At the time of which we are now speaking, Frederic Wilthelm 
had been a steward for several years, and his ability and conscien- 
tious discharge of duty had won the appreciation and approval of 
his employers. He held a remunerative position on the Wall- 
muth’s farm, and the prospect offered him in the future was 
fair. With filial affection he had helped his mother; in fact, 
almost all his earnings in past years had gone to the alleviation 
of the trouble and difficulties which the extravagance of the father 
or eldest son brought on the family. For the last two years mat- 
ters had gone on better, on account of the absence of the eldest 
brother on the one hand, and on the other through the death of 
the old people, whose small property was left to their daughter. 
It was, however, encumbered with so many debts incurred by her 
husband on the strength of this prospective legacy, that it brought 
but little relief. A short time afterward, Wilthelm got a situation 
as clerk in a neighboring village. 

In consequence of the happy turn affairs seemed to have taken, 
and the kindness and esteem shown to him by the family whom 
he served, Frederic’s life appeared at last to be easy and pleasant. 
But it was not this change that brightened the young man’s grave 
features aiid dispelled their usually somber expression. 


IN THE TENT. 


87 


About six montbi before a new member had been introduced 
into the Wallmuth’s family circle, Marie Schmittler, the daughter 
of a wealthy landed proprietor in Wiesen, a village just beyond the 
frontier. She came to learn housekeeping, and especially to be 
initiated into the mysteries of the art of cooking. Her father, 
whose large property entitled him to reckon himself among the. 
landowners, had only this one daughter, and was desirous that 
she should receive a training befitting her for the position she 
would occupy; and this, according to the ideas prevalent in that 
part of the country, included a thorough, practical knowledge of 
housekeeping, acquired in a large household, of which the young 
girl was treated as a member. 

Such was the position in which we now find Marie Schmittler 
a year or two after she left the convent school where her higher 
training had been received. Mrs. Wallmuth, a former school- 
fellow^ had since her marriage never ceased to beg that Marie 
might go through the usual course of practical housekeeping 
in her house; Mr. Schmittler had willingly consented, as the 
Wallmuths were considered to be among the principal farmers in 
the vicinity. 

There is a great deal of hard, strenuous work, and much 
coming and going on a large farm, but the life is stirring and 
exhilarating through the constant change of employment it 
brings. The pupils or apprentices who assist the steward, the 
housekeeper and the girls who under her auspices learn the man- 
agement of a household, form a not inconsiderable society among 
themselves, and being constantly brought into contact are apt to 
fall in love with one another more often than meets with the 
master’s and mistress’s approval. 

Up to this time Frederic Wilthelm’s grave, demure demeanor, 
the economy he practised in order to aid his parents, led him to 


38 


IN THE TENT. 


deny himself the amusements of the young, and to avoid, rather 
than seek, the society of the fair sex. But at length better days 
had dawned for him. Marie Schmittler’s quiet, pensive charm, 
her gentle manner, made a deep impression on him, and he could 
not but admire her ability and industry. Now that he could 
breathe more freely his timidity vanished. The fact that Marie 
was the daughter of well-to-do parents was moreover not with- 
out vreight with him, as her dowry would enable them to start 
in life comfortably. 

The little circle at Gubstedt soon remarked the change that had 
come over the steward. He all at once became much more sociable, 
and when he had half an hour to spare he spent it in the company 
of the others, instead of taking a solitary walk with his gun or 
resting in his own room. He also planned short excursions in the 
neighborhood, picnics in the forest, or trips to some place of in- 
terest, to show Miss Schmittler the country, as he said. In this 
Mr. and Mrs. Wallmuth, who were young and well off, encouraged 
him. With Mrs. Wallmuth Wilthelm was a great favorite; she 
valued him on account of his stanch, trustworthy character, and 
would have been glad that he should have the good fortune to win 
so wealthy a girl. Thus though he had not said a word con- 
cerning his hopes, he found a zealous ally in her. 

On Marie’s behalf also Mrs. Wallmuth wished for the match, 
for she thought she could not have a better husband. The girl 
had not repelled his advances; in fact, she was alleged by one 
of the young men to have given an undeniable mark of favor, 
because in the week that she ruled in the kitchen the steward’s 
taste was obviously studied in regard to the dishes served at table. 

Whether Marie regarded his attentions seriously was, however, 
only matter of conjecture until the drive to the market. Under 
her friend’s chaperonage Marie was less timid and reserved than 


IN THE TENT. 


she might otherwise have been, and many significant words and 
looks were exchanged which made both her and him happy. 
Neither any longer felt doubtful as to the other’s feelings; both 
experienced the joy that delightful confidence inspires ^'when 
hearts are of each other sure.” 

No wonder, then, that Wilthelm, habitually so calm, was half- 
intoxicated with happiness as he made his way to the tent to 
rejoin Marie. The high spirits befitting the day, the merry chat- 
ter going on around them, the music and dancing, all made it easy 
for him to keep close to her side. But fate does not always favor 
lovers; more often it puts their patience to a sore test. When 
Frederic was wending his way at a quick pace along the narrow 
passages between the booths, through a gaping, bargaining crowd 
of buyers and sellers, he found himself amid a group of angry 
disputants, who completely arrested his progress. In the center 
of the throng were two personages, in one of whom, to his surprise, 
Wilthelm recognized the old woman who had been his traveling 
companion that morning. Her opponent, a stalwart young peas- 
ant, was gesticulating and vociferating vehemently, insisting upon 
something to which he had a right, while she protested by signs 
that she understood nothing he said, thereby increasing his irrita- 
tion. Wilthelm remembered her infirmity, and pressed forward 
to interpose. 

The man was holding out two pieces of gold which he declared 
he had received an hour or two ago from the old woman, in the 
course of business, and which he now discovered to be base coin. 
He had directly sought her out, and required her either to ex- 
change the money or give back the goods. 

Wilthelm easily convinced him that the old crone was ex- 
cessively deaf; he asked then if she had paid away any other 
money. Some other coins were shown him which appeared good. 


40 


JN THE TENT. 


whereas the two gold pieces were very suspicious. He told the 
old woman that the best thing she could do was to give the man 
two other gold pieces; no doubt she would recollect from whom 
she had taken the bad ones, and could in her turn exchange them. 

At first she only looked at him distrustfully in reward for 
his intervention, but on recognizing him, she consented at last 
to take back the money, when the peasant declared himself ready 
to swear that he had taken them from her, since he had transacted 
business with no one else that day. She did so most reluctantly, 
and only on Frederic’s assurances that she would get into trouble 
if the matter was laid before the authorities. As she said she 
had no small change, Frederic, to cut the matter short, changed 
some notes for her — for which act he got little gratitude; the 
man, however, was profuse in his thanks, asserting meanwhile 
that the old witch had heard much better when making a bargain 
with him. When Frederic saw the purse full of gold and notes 
which the miller’s widow brought out, he remembered what he 
had heard that morning about her riches and her miserliness. 
The last he saw of her she was standing in a narrow alley in 
close converse with a little deformed man, who, he thought, was 
probably the relative Jenny had mentioned that morning. 

At length he reached the tent where the company were seated 
at table. His party had taken places near the orchestra, with 
many of their friends about them. When Wilthelm came in, Mrs. 
Wallmuth looked reproachfully at him for arriving so late. She 
had tried to keep a place for him next to Marie, but it was filled, 
and he could only sit opposite to her. Marie’s neighbor was an 
elderly man, whose thin features wore a peculiarly irritable ex- 
pression. He was evidently a man who had raised himself from 
the peasant class, and was proud of his money. Wilthelm rightly 
guessed that it was Marie’s father, and greeted him with cor- 


IN THE TENT. 


41 


diaKty; but the old man did not respond very courteously, and 
his manner was still less friendly when Mr. Wallmuth introduced 
his steward by name. 

In vain did Frederic endeavor to make friends with Mr. 
Schmittler on the strength of his father’s former acquaintance 
with him. The old man would not enter upon the past, and 
received the message of which Frederic was the bearer with a 
covert sneer, which did not escape the young man’s notice. It 
would have led him to break off all conversation with him had 
he not remarked a pleading look on Marie’s countenance. He 
remembered she had said her father was rather eccentric, and 
therefore gave a turn to the conversation by telling Mrs. Wallmuth 
of his meeting with the old woman from the mill. Mr. Wallmuth 
said he had often heard of bad money being current in the neigh- 
borhood, and Schmittler affirmed that some years ago several per- 
sons had been arrested and punished for issuing counterfeit coin, 
though the real culprits had not been discovered. He went on to 
expatiate on his own cleverness in detecting false coin, and told 
many stories of the discernment he had shown in not allowing 
such to be palmed off on him. The patience with which Wilthelm 
listened to him might have influenced him in favor of the young 
man had not an unexpected interruption occurred. The band 
had been resting a while. Now they struck up fresh dance 
music, for the benefit of those who had to leave before the evening. 
Wilthelm, hearing these strains, could no longer listen to the 
loquacious old man ; he and Marie stood up and joined the ranks 
of the dancers, their countenances beaming with happiness. 

The old man did not fail to observe this ; he stopped talking, 
despite all Mrs. Wallmuth’s efforts to entertain him. Certainly 
she might have chosen a theme more to his liking than Wilthelm’s 
excellencies, for the old man’s gray eyes rested on the two with 


IN THE TENT. 


no very amiable expression. Yet he might have been prond of 
them, for the handsome couple could hold their own even among 
the more fashionable tovmsfolk who had come to join in the 
day’s festivities. Marie could bear comparison with ladies better- 
looking and better-dressed than herself; her dress was as simple 
and unpretentious as she was herself ; a colored ribbon and a gold 
brooch were the only ornaments she wore. 

Happiness and excitement became her well, and many an ad- 
miring glance was directed toward her. She and her partner were 
so taken up with the joy of the moment that they noticed neither 
the frown with which old Schmittler followed their movements 
nor the gaze which one of the band fixed on them from the or- 
chestra. The horn-player, whose likeness to Frederic had struck 
Jenny so forcibly, watched the good-looking girl and her partner 
with no slight interest. For the second dance politeness required 
that Wilthelm should ask Mrs. Wallmuth’s hand, while Mr. Wall- 
muth had Marie for his partner, and his good-natured teasing 
did more than the swift waltz to bring the hot blood to the girl’s 
cheeks. When the third dance came, Marie gave the preference to 
Wilthelm above several other suitors who presented tL.mselves. 

This was too much for old Schmittler’s equanimity; without 
a word to any one he left the tent in no very good humor. A 
short time after, Wilthelm was leaning against one of the pillars 
supporting the orchestra, watching Marie with all the rapture of 
a heart open for the first time to the sweet influence of love, when 
the blast of a horn, dose to his ear, made him look up at the band. 
The tall performer on the horn, who had been watching him all 
the time, stooped down, and looked him full in the face with a 
satirical expression. For a moment their eyes met, and the like- 
ness between the two men must have struck any one who was not 
too much engrossed in the pursuit of pleasure to observe them. 


IN THE TENT, 


43 


Frederic gazed at the musician, hardly able to believe his eyes; 
the other seemed amused at his astonishment; the next moment 
he bent back and again placed his instrument to his lips. 

Frederic felt quite dazed; he forgot where he was and every- 
thing around him, until a slight movement beside him recalled 
him to the consciousness of Marie’s presence. He felt giddy, and 
longed for the open air, but he forced himself to finish the dance 
with his partner. She noticed his agitation, but did not venture 
to ask the cause of it. In fact, he seemed so absent, and went 
away so quickly after taking her back to her place, that there was 
no opportunity to ask questions. 

This sudden change of behavior completely mystified her. In 
vain she sought to account for it. She had looked forward to 
this dance with mingled feelings of hope and fear. Would he avail 
himself of this opportunity to repeat what he had hinted so 
plainly that morning? Her youthful heart beat high in joyous 
anticipation, but the anticipation was vain. The dancing went 
on, but Wilthelm did not return to claim her as his partner. All 
Marie’s maidenly pride was needed to disguise her chagrin. Al- 
though plenty of admirers pressed around her, her pleasure was 
at an end; it gave place to a torturing apprehension lest some- 
thing should have happened to Wilthelm. 

Mrs. Wallmuth was scarcely less uneasy than Marie at the 
young man’s prolonged absence. She looked at Marie; perhaps 
she was to blame for his sudden disappearance. Then it occurred 
to her that Marie’s father might have something to do with it. 
In her zealous partisanship of the lovers she, too, had hoped good 
results from this gala day. And now — ^how could he neglect Marie 
in that way ? Perhaps, not caring about dancing, he was loitering 
about with some of his friends. How stupid men are, she con- 
cluded. 


44 


TUB TWO BROTHERS, 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE TWO BROTHERS. 

In the mean time Wilthelm had been wandering about aim- 
lessly. He could not recover from the shock he had received in the 
tent; that was undoubtedly his brother, inexplicable as was his 
presence there. One must be acquainted with the history of the 
family to understand the vexation and dismay Frederic felt at 
the reappearance of the brother whom he believed to be on the 
other side of the Atlantic. 

Will Wilthelm was the forester’s eldest son, the one who had 
caused so much grief and trouble to the family, especially to his 
brother. As a child he was beautiful and clever, and consequently 
petted and indulged by his otherwise stern mother. The father, 
with his pretentious ideas, wished to give him an education befit- 
ting him for a far higher station, but the spoiled boy early showed 
that he inherited all his father’s bad qualities, preeminently that 
frivolity which made him only care for the pleasures life offers. His 
talents enabled him to do well at school, but after that, although 
well aware of his parents’ straitened circumstances, he would 
settle down to no employment. Again and again their resources 
were drained to supply the funds for his extravagant and fast 
mode of life. At last he had recourse to illegal means of raising 
money, and to escape the arm of the law took flight to America, 
to try his fortune in the New World. To rescue his good name 
his mother had done her utmost, and Frederic had sacriflced all 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


45 


his savings to help his brother. Three years had elapsed since 
then; the last letter Will wrote home was dated from the ship 
that was taking him out. Since then nothing had been heard 
of him; his mother fretted at his silence, but Frederic hoped 
that he had been able to turn to account one of his many gifts, 
and do better on a foreign soil. He knew that Will had musical 
talent ; from his childhood he had been accustomed to play on his 
father’s horn, and other instruments, yet he never expected to 
see him again in his native land as one of a band of itinerant 
musicians, and he augured no good from his reappearance. 

What Frederic thought the worst sign was that the look his 
brother fixed on him had in it no trace of shame ®r avoidance; 
on the contrary, it was obvious that he enjoyed the sight of 
Frederic’s amazement and annoyance. Thus, instead of com- 
passionating his brother, he only recalled with bitterness the ef- 
forts and sacrifices it had cost him to pay his passage out to 
America. 

What had he come back for ? Frederic was proud ; he thought 
almost too much of the good opinion and esteem of others — ^his 
family antecedents made him over sensitive on this point. The 
regard in which he was held was due entirely to his own exertions, 
and he valued it accordingly. A presentiment seized him that his 
brother could have come back at a no more unfortunate juncture, 
and he shrank from returning to the tent, lest the likeness be- 
tween them should attract observation. Yet it seemed as if he 
ought to seek out his brother to hear what had led him to return. 

While thus debating within himself he let the time slip by 
without thinking how abruptly he had left Marie. The day was 
drawing to a close ; the crowds were ^adually thinning, but inside 
the booths the merriment was noisier and more uproarious than 
ever, especially where dancing was going on, 


id 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


Frederic was hungry and thirsty; he felt the need of some 
refreshment, and turned into a booth of an inferior class. A 
band was playing there, and a number of people were frisking 
and dancing about in no very regular step. He made his way 
to the farther end, to find a place where he could indulge his 
thoughts undisturbed. His acquaintances were all in the other 
tent, and he found a corner where he hoped to be unmolested. 
But he had not been there many minutes before a bold voice 
addressed him. 

Jenny stood before him, leaning on the arm of a stalwart 
soldier, from whom she unceremoniously parted to speak to her 
former acquaintance. The girl’s face was flushed with dancing; 
her eyes had a wild look, and Wilthelm was really sorry to see 
that the young thing had got into such bad company. He asked 
if she had remained alone, or whether the old woman had changed 
her mind as to leaving early. 

The girl laughed, showing her white teeth. She was having 
a good time, she said. The old hag had been so put out about 
the bad money that she had gone home at noon; Jenny was to 
return with some other people, bringing the things that had been 
purchased, as they had a cart. But they would not leave till late, 
so she had a jolly day for once. Yet why, she asked, did Mr. 
Wilthelm sit there, instead of disporting himself like the rest? 

Frederic was not in a mood for merrymaking; he rather felt 
inclined to warn the girl that she had better go back at once, 
since it was most improper for her to be alone at the fair so late; 
he thought of asking her to go with him, and offered her a seat 
in the Wallmuths’ carriage. But he noticed that many of the 
men present were the worse for liquor, and ready to pick a 
quarrel. In fact, the young fellow whom Jenny had sent off 
when she spoke to Wilthelm had been regarding him all along 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


47 


with a sinister expression, and now, with some others, he ap- 
proached the fine gentleman who had been preferred to him, 
with somewhat menacing looks. As Jenny, relying on Wilthelm’s 
protection, refused to go with them, he asserted that she had 
promised him the next dance, and under this pretext forced his 
way to the door with her, where he sought the protection of the 
police. 

With a few forcible words he warned the girl in regard to her 
unguarded conduct, and offered to escort her to the people with 
whom she was to return. He did not observe that old Schmittler 
was standing near, and eying him sharply; also that the little 
hunchback was follov/ing him as he moved away. 

Jenny told him where she expected to meet the people in 
question, and walked beside him, hanging her head. She lis- 
tened to his admonitions and said, with sobs, no one had ever 
spoken so kindly to her as he did. She could not remain where 
she was. Could he perhaps get the kind ladies with whom she 
had driven that morning to take her on at the farm? She was 
able and willing to work. Earnest as she was in her petition, all 
of a sudden she stopped short, stammered something about seeing 
her friends, and with a few words of thanks, disappeared between 
the booths before Wilthelm could look round. As he turned away 
he found himself face to face with his brother, who met his eye 
with the same peculiar smile as before. 

Frederic started back, and his brother made as if he would 
pass on without a word. But Frederic’s better self prevailed; 
they were both children of the same mother. He went up to 
his brother and held out his hand, which Will took as indifferently 
as if they had never been parted. 

You were surprised to see me,” he began, carelessly. You 
thought I was on the other side of the Atlantic? But there is 


48 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


not much more of an opening for one there than here. Some 
musicians who were coming home brought me with them. One 
can get on better in Germany than with the Americans. Since 
then I have wandered about with my comrades — it is not such a 
bad life after all; here to-day, there to-morrow, one is rooted 
nowhere, one has a competence and liberty. But,^^ he added, 
did I not disturb you in a pleasant conversation ? ” As Fred- 
eric did not answer, he continued with a flighty laugh : I see 
my grave brother has acquired a taste for agreeable company. I 
saw you this morning with that pretty maid. I admire your 
taste — I should not have credited you with it in years gone by.” 

I do not know what you mean,” Frederic replied, drawing 
himself up haughtily. The girl you saw just now came in with 
us by chance. She was asking about a situation, that was all. I 
left the tent because I could not go on dancing after I recognized 
you. Who would ever have thought to see you again like this ! ” 
Frederic covered his face with his hands. 

Bless me, how proud we are ! ” Will rejoined, endeavoring 
to hide a certain embarrassment by greater insolence of manner. 

All seems to have gone well with you. I suppose you are afraid 
tlie likeness between us might betray our relationship to the fine 
company you were with. That fair girl with whom you opened the 
ball is said to be the richest match in the country round — not 
that that is saying much. Our flute-player, who belongs to these 
parts, told me so. So now I see what my worthy brother is after — 
a well-filled money-bag! It is really amusing, old boy, to find 
the preacher of morals that you were turned into a gallant ! Do 
not be afraid — I can hold my tongue. Now I will not detain you 
longer,” he concluded, holding out his hand. 

Frederic was too much annoyed by this banter to wish to 
keep him, yet he suppressed his feeling of disgust, and asked 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


49 


him why he did not so much as ask after his parents, whether he 
would not go to see them. 

The young man colored and looked confused. They would 
probably be no better pleased to see me again than you are. My 
circumstances are not brilliant. I have to preserve my incognito ; 
it is hardly safe for me to show myself where so many people 
know me. We shall not be long here; give my love to the old 
people — 

1 know you are engaged to play here three days, and this is 
only the first,^^ Frederic replied. ‘^You are free in the early 
morning and of an evening. Shall we not meet again? It is 
unnatural to part thus.” 

Frederic forced himself to speak kindly, and also to ask if 
he could not do anything to help his brother to follow a better 
course of life. Will thanked him, and jingling a few thalers in 
his pocket, said he was not short of cash just then, and the morrow 
must take care of itself. But he was willing to appoint a ren- 
dezvous, if they could meet without observation. Finally it was 
agreed that they should each go half way, and at nine o’clock in 
the evening, the day after to-morrow, meet at the beacon. 
saw the old thing this morning,” Will said, and I have often 
heard father speak of it. But our pause is nearly out, and I 
must wet my whistle before going back. And you must go to 
your fair lady, lest some one else should snap her up, though your 
sweetheart out here is better looking by far.” 

This time Frederic made no attempt to detain him. He was 
almost sorry he had made an appointment with him, he so much 
disliked his brother’s manner. Now he must go back to the tent, 
as he wanted to ask Mr. Wallmuth to lend him his horse, that he 
might go home at once, for he knew his employer wished to stay 
till the dancing was over. And when Wallmuth, half teasing. 


50 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


began to lecture him about his sudden disappearance, for which 
the ladies could not account, he only replied that he had met some 
acquaintances, who told him bad news, which spoiled his pleasure. 
He complained of violent headache, and begged Wallmuth to 
excuse him to the ladies. Wallmuth noticed that he looked wor- 
ried and disturbed, and concluded that he had heard something 
unpleasant, probably family concerns. So he told him he was 
welcome to take the horse, and he would say all that was neces- 
sary to the ladies. 

Everybody, however, did not take so charitable a view of 
Frederic’s conduct. Even while he was speaking to Wallmuth, 
old Mr. Schmittler, in answer to Mrs. Wallmuth’s inquiry whether 
he had seen anything of Wilthelm, was saying, with many inuen- 
does, that the young man had been in another tent, where very 
riotous play was going on. In fact, the police had been obliged 
to interfere, the uproar was so great; a dispute about a girl had 
arisen, and the low fellows had turned a gentleman out. He had 
descried Wilthelm’s green jacket and sportsman’s cap in the 
thick of the fray. The old man told this with malicious pleasure, 
but Mrs. Wallmuth would have it that he was mistaken, as Fred- 
eric was the last man to get into such unpleasantness, and there 
were others dressed like him in the town. Unfortunately her 
husband’s report served to confirm what the old man had affirmed. 
At any rate there was nothing contrary to it. Marie said not a 
word to betray her feelings, but during the drive home an op- 
pression seemed to weigh upon her, although the evening air on 
the hills was cool. Ever and anon she fancied she saw a pair of 
bright brown eyes gleaming contemptuously at her; in her own 
mind she knew full well who the girl was about whom the dispute 
had arisen. 

By a curious coincidence, Mrs. Wallmuth’s assertion that some 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


61 


one else wearing a huntsman’s green coat might have been mis- 
taken for Wilthelm was corroborated that same evening. The 
little hunchback, who had been persistently tracking Frederic 
all day long, in order to get back from him the paper money which 
the old woman had given him in exchange for small silver, caught 
sight of him, as he thought, in a by-way, and hastening up, ac- 
costed him with low obeisances and excuses. The man he ad- 
dressed, however, received him in no friendly fashion; he im- 
patiently cut short his long-winded story about the old woman’s 
money, and even threatened to give him in charge if he molested 
him further. This menace, instead of intimidating the hunch- 
back, emboldened him. Looking fixedly at the tall fellow who 
was already moving off, he said : “ If you are not the Gubstedt 
steward, as I imagined, you are a Wilthelm. I know all your his- 
tory, and you had better have me for a friend than an enemy.” 

Who are you, and what do you want ? ” inquired the other, 
looking angrily at the deformed object before him. I am one 
of the band yonder, and must be back in my place directly.” 

musician, are you?” rejoined the dwarf, somewhat con- 
temptuously. Have you done no better than that for yourself ? 
You see I know you have been to America. I took you for your 
brother, you are so much alike. I know your father, too, and I 
have carried on a little business with him lately, to our mutual 
advantage.” While he ran on thus he walked by the side of the 
other man behind the large tent. One need not go over the sea 
to get rich, if one knows how to set about it here,” he continued, 
taking a few pieces of gold from his pocket. " It is lucky that 
I came across you instead of your brother, for you may be of use 
to us. Your father always said you were a clever fellow. I only 
wanted to get some paper money back from your brother which 
that old fool gave him this morning, and which may get us into 


52 


THE TWO BROTHERS. 


trouble. But I am not afraid to let you behind the scene. You 
will not spoil our game. Let them do without your clarinet a 
while. I will put you in the way of more profitable employment,” 
he concluded, with a crafty leer, as he drew Will into a dark 
corner, and lowered his voice to a whisper. 

It was some time before the horn-player took his part again 
in the orchestra, but as the merriment grew louder, his absence 
was not remarked by the dancers — ^though his comrades did not 
greet him very amicably. It was not the failure in meeting J enny 
at the appointed time, nor any feeling of jealousy toward his 
brother that made him appear preoccupied and absent. And 
when, the next day, he set out to take the long walk to the mill 
by the stream, it was not for the sake of the black-eyed maiden, 
though he let her hear more of his foolish prattle than was good 
for her, but for the sake of a long and secret conference with the 
hunchback. 


PLl&HTED TROTH, 


58 


CHAPTER IV. 

PLIGHTED TROTH. 

Old Mr. Schmittler returned home on the market-day in an 
unmistakably bad temper; yet he had every reason to be pleased, 
for he had never before been treated with so much friendliness 
and consideration by the farmers, among whom it was his am- 
bition to be ranked. He was none the less flattered by the atten- 
tion shown him because he knew it was due to the property he 
had amassed, and the fact that he was father to a grown-up 
daughter, the future heiress of that property. Yet it was this 
daughter who was the cause of the wrinkles on his forehead and 
the uneasy thoughts that disturbed his equanimity. He had ob- 
served in the course of the day much that displeased him. What 
did Wilthelm want to come philandering about Marie for? 
Schmittler was by no means well-disposed toward the Wallmuths* 
steward ; a fine gentleman, he said, who likes to look on instead of 
putting his own shoulder to the wheel, and to flirt with ladies 
when he has nothing in his pocket. Was he to fill his daughter’s 
head with fancies? 

The old man had seen what Mrs. Wallmuth was aiming at 
when she enlarged upon Frederic’s good qualities. If she thought 
he had sent his daughter to her to pick up a lover, she was very 
much mistaken, and he would let her see it. Had he known that 
one of the Wilthelms was at the farm, she should never have gone 
there. Bringing him messages from his distinguished father, for- 


64 


PLIGHTED TROTH. 


sooth ! Perhaps the young gentleman thought he did him great 
honor by courting his daughter, and imagined he could get into a 
warm nest as his father did with his wife's parents. I will put 
a spoke in his wheel; stamp out the spark and your house will not 
be burned down." Again and again the old man repeated this 
proverb, till his gig rolled noisily into the yard behind his house. 

He seemed to have exhausted all his desire for conversation, 
for to all his wife's queries, whether it had been a good market, 
whether he had met the Wallmuths, and whether he had seen 
Marie, he gave none but monosyllabic replies, or contented himself 
with an inarticulate grunt. The fat, placid dame knew her hus- 
band's ways, and took his grumpy manner quietly. She was not a 
great talker herself, and left the conversation willingly to him, 
for generally he was fond of hearing his own voice. 

If the good woman was surprised at his unwonted silence that 
evening she was still more surprised at the announcement he made 
to her the next morning. Without further explanation he bade 
her write to Marie, and tell her to come home in the course of a 
few days, as her mother needed her help ; he himself would write 
to Mr. Wallmuth and fix a day to fetch his daughter. 

Mrs. Schmittler could scarcely believe her own ears. Her 
husband had been most anxious for Marie to go to Gubstedt, and 
had arranged for her to remain there a year and a half ; now she 
had been there scarcely six months. Were the Wallmuths dis- 
satisfied with her? What would people say if she returned so 
unexpectedly? Or had Marie any cause of complaint? In her 
last letter she seemed quite happy and contented. 

Mr. Schmittler did not appear inclined to be more explicit. 
He persisted in his assertion that his wife wanted assistance and 
that it was no good for children to work for other people when 
there was work enough for them to do at home. If anybody 


PLIGHTED TROTH. 


60 


questioned her more closely, he told his wife she could refer them 
to him. He would silence them. 

The reason Matthias Schmittler gave for Marie’s return an- 
noyed his wife most of all. It had always been her delight and 
her pride to bustle about in the house and garden; never had it 
occurred to her to wish for help. How long was it since she had 
become incapable of performing her duties alone? But however 
she grumbled to herself, she knew when once her husband took 
an idea into his head it was useless to oppose him. So she was 
silent and let him have his way; it did not matter to her; if her 
daughter came home she should show that she could do quite well 
without her. So she wrote the letter and briefly told Marie what 
her father wished. Schmittler wrote also, though he hardly liked 
doing so, for it was inconvenient for the Wallmuths to part with 
Marie just at harvest time, the busiest season in large farms. 
However, he was determined, as he said, to extinguish the spark 
and thus prevent a conflagration. Yet parents who think them- 
selves so wise often have the misfortune to interfere too late. 

Marie Schmittler felt sadly depressed that evening on return- 
ing from the fair, and she cried bitterly when alone in her room. 
All manner of mistrustful thoughts in regard to her lover filled 
her mind, and she determined never to speak to Frederic again. 
But at the very moment that she took this resolution, she felt 
how deeply her affection for him had struck root in her heart. 

Nevertheless the next morning matters did not appear to her 
in such gloomy colors. The opening day and the bright sunshine 
had the effect of making all look more hopeful, and Marie won- 
dered that she could have been so unhappy. The explanation was 
quite natural and simple. Frederic had, a^» Mr. Wallmuth said, 
heard some bad news which had spoiled his pleasure at the ball. 
This more lenient judgment of his behavior had its reward; as 


56 


-FLIGHTED TROTH. 


Marie left her room, she found a bunch of gentian tied to the door 
handle, as if asking to be received as a peace-offering. Gentian, 
the flower they had found in the forest — that alone spoke volumes ; 
but in addition a slip of paper was attached to the bouquet, bearing 
the words : Forgive me. I could not help acting as I did,’^ 
hastily scribbled upon it. This would have been enough to ap- 
pease resentment more bitter than Marie’s. She pressed the blue 
flowers to her lips, and read and reread the brief message, then 
hid it in her bosom. Naturally, she felt no slight compunction 
at having doubted Frederic’s affection and fldelity. 

Frederic, meanwhile, had felt a heavy weight upon his heart. 
Since speaking to Wallmuth, he was more conscious than before 
that he had treated Marie very badly. How could he excuse him- 
self, seeing that he could not tell the real reason of his conduct ? 
What an excellent opportunity of making love to her he had 
missed ! He gathered the gentian by night, hoping it would prove 
a potent intercessor on his behalf. But would she accept it as 
such? Even the laborers in the harvest field next morning per- 
ceived that something had gone amiss with the steward, and one of 
the young fellows said he must have taken too much at the fair to 
be so ill-tempered in that beautiful harvest weather. For the 
matter of that, the flne weather was not calculated to put him into 
a good humor, as when there was so much to do in the flelds he 
had little chance of a few quiet words with Marie. He would 
probably only see her at the hasty mealtimes, in the presence of 
others, and he could not bear to meet her without a word, or even 
a look of intelligence being exchanged between them. 

In spite of this dread, he longed for the dinner-hour to come, 
and busy as he was he was the first in the dining-room that day. 
He would have wagered a hundred to one that the mistress of the 
house would be there, or one of the servants would be occupied 


PLIGHTED TROTH. 


57 


in setting the table. But fortune favored him this time, as she 
often does the venturesome. If Marie had been asked she vrould 
have alleged that Mr. Wallmuth would be there before the steward. 
Yet she took upon herself the duty of laying the cloth, and before 
doing this she took care to put the little bunch of gentian in her 
bodice. So it happened that the two stood face to face before mid- 
day had struck again, though certainly in a less romantic spot than 
the forest glade, amid rustling leaves and fragrant flowers. This 
time it was in a long room on which the sun glared flercely, and 
which was pervaded by a very prosy odor from the kitchen. 

Frederic was hot and dusty, as became a farm bailiff in harvest 
time, but love glorified him in Marie’s eyes. The day before they 
had been timid and silent ; now there was not time to say all that 
had to be sard, all that had to be explained. Marie hardly 
knew how it came about, but all at once Frederic’s arm was round 
her waist ; he called her his own dear Marie, and she whispered a 
willing assent to his questions. Her hand was in his, her head 
rested on his shoulder, and under the magic influence of mutual 
love earth for a few moments was a paradise to them. 

Their bliss lasted but a short time. Wlien Mr. Wallmuth en- 
tered his steward was looking out of the window, and the answers 
he gave to his employer’s questions were not always to the point ; 
but the latter was himself too preoccupied to notice that. Marie 
had long’ since returned to the kitchen, and the heat of the stove 
accounted for her glowing cheeks. Mrs. Wallmuth observed that 
the two spoke little, and ate less than usual. She wished to ask 
her friend how matters stood between her lover and herself, but 
Marie avoided being alone with her, as she determined no one 
should know her secret until she had confided it to her parents. 

Frederic already reproached himself for having said so much to 
the girl before obtaining her parents’ consent. He did not conceal 


68 


PLIGHTED TROTH. 


from her his fear that her father would object to his suit on ac- 
count of his want of means. But he hoped soon to have an inde- 
pendent position. He had frequently had a farm offered him, but 
had declined it, preferring to retain his present humbler post. 
Now, animated by the hope of making Marie his own, he should 
do so no more. 

Marie entered heartily into his plans, and rejoiced that he was 
anxious to be independent of her parents. She had always looked 
forward to marriage as a matter of course, and she felt that being 
the daughter of a wealthy man gave her a certain liberty of choice. 
Although her father was sometimes crusty, he generally let her 
have her own way in the end. She knew Frederic to be honest and 
upright; the Wallmuths spoke highly of his ability and reliable- 
ness; he was a son of the soil, and she knew her parents thought 
that of great importance. Perhaps she would have done better to 
ask their consent before plighting her troth; yet for all Marie’s 
modest ways, she carried her head high, and there was an energy 
about her which led one to think that she knew how to hold her 
own in spite of opposition or obstacles. 

It was, therefore, agreed between the lovers that Frederic should 
go to Marie’s parents. He should only ask for their permission to 
woo their daughter when he had an independent position, and 
Marie declared that if they must wait a little it would do no harm. 
So they returned from the dairy that day with a far slower step 
than usual, their hearts full of love and hope and happy confi- 
dence. As they entered the house Frederic caught Marie’s hand 
and gave it a significant squeeze. She colored crimson, but re- 
turned the pressure firmly, as if to testify that she would be true to 
Frederic in life and in death. 

The harvestmen had no occasion to complain that evening of 
the steward’s ill-temper. They wondered why, without any appar- 


PLIGHTED TROTH, 


ent reason, he treated them all to an extra glass of ale at his own 
expense, and bade them drink to his good fortune. 

Marie, too, saw everything in roseate hues. When she went to 
her room that night her mind was at rest. Her heart overflowed 
with thankfulness to God, who had disposed all so mercifully for 
her, and she rejoiced to think that her beloved also gave thanks. 


60 


THE SEPARATION, 


CHAPTEE V. 

THE SEPAEATIOJT. 

Frederic alleged that he was going out shooting as an excuse 
for absenting himself from Gubstedt on the evening when he had 
appointed to meet his brother at the beacon. Nor was this a ficti- 
tious pretext, for the forester of the district, a man named Ellring, 
an old acquaintance of Wilthelm’s, had invited him when he met 
him at the market at Arensen to go out with him one day before 
the close of the shooting. 

The beacon was exactly an hour’s walk from the farm. As 
Frederic approached the spot he heard something crushing 
through the copse, and thought after all he should bring down a 
roebuck ; but just as he put his gun to his shoulder it struck him 
that it was a man’s steps he had heard. 

On reaching the clearing he found his brother there. He lay 
stretched out on the mossy ground beneath one of the stately 
beech trees. He did not rise until Frederic got close to him, 
then he said in rather an incoherent manner that he had been 
waiting a long time and had fallen asleep, as he had been playing 
the day before far into the night. 

It is a hateful employment that allows one no rest ! In the 
day time, wandering from place to place; at night ruining one’s 
lungs with the eternal piping.” There was truth in what he said, 
and the poor fellow looked fagged and weary ; but his complaints 
were quite opposed to the manner in which he had expressed him- 


THE SEPARATION. 


61 


self in regard to the life of a wandering musician on the occasion 
of their first meeting. Frederic was accustomed to his brother’s 
changing moods. He said to soothe him that after a time some- 
thing else might be found for him, but no sooner had he uttered 
the words than he wished he had not spoken, as Will caught at 
the suggestion with singular eagerness. 

He had been thinking of that, he said. His old love of the 
forest had revived; he was a forester’s son, and had always de- 
lighted in matters concerning woodcraft or the chase. It was very 
stupid of his parents to bring him up for something different ; he 
should like to enter a forester’s service now; surely Frederic had 
many friends employed in the Woods and Forests and could easily 
get him a situation. 

The turn the conversation had taken was anything but pleasant 
to Frederic. His knowledge of his brother’s character was not 
such as would make it desirable to recommend him, and he 
thought it most inadvisable that he should remain in that neigh- 
borhood. He did not wish to offend him, but he urged that the 
fact of his passing under an assumed name might cause unpleas- 
antness, and that if he were recognized he would be called to ac- 
count for not having performed his military duties. So he 
advised him to seek employment at some distance from his native 
place. 

Will answered all these objections impatiently. For two years 
he had used the papers and passport of a comrade who died, and 
never got into trouble; the police would not spy him out there. 
And as for the likeness to his brother betraying him it would be 
enough to let his beard grow and cut his hair short. But, he 
added fretfully, that was always the way with relatives ; they were 
ready enough with fair promises, but when it came to practical aid 
they drew back. 


THE mPARATlOH. 


Frederic might have reminded him how often he had availed 
himself of his and others’ help, but he wished to avoid a dispute, 
and therefore spoke of his parents, whom he intended visiting on 
the morrow, and asked if he should take a message from Will to 
his mother to say when she might expect him. 

Will would give no decided answer. He brought out some 
presents to be given to his father and mother and sisters, which he 
gave into Frederic’s charge. The latter remarked that his calling 
must be a tolerably profitable one if he could afford to be so gen- 
erous ; but his brother answered that it was great slavery, and he 
did not intend to bother himself in that way any longer. 

Frederic secretly concluded that his brother had quarreled with 
his comrades. He promised to deliver his messages to his parents ; 
but the two had little to say to each other, and it was a relief to 
both when Frederic said he must go home. 

After they had parted, Frederic pursued his way, thinking over 
this interview with his brother, which had left an even more un- 
pleasant impression than the former. Will seemed restless and 
discontented, and whereas at first his demeanor was cheerful 
and bold, there now was something about it that was not calculated 
to inspire trust. Frederic was much annoyed that he wished to 
obtain employment in the vicinity, but he consoled himself with 
the thought that his brother would find it almost impossible to 
meet with a situation. 

As Frederic passed the mill on his way back, Jenny’s black head 
suddenly appeared above the garden hedge. She seemed to be 
on the lookout for some one, and wanted to see who was coming, 
for as he drew near she disappeared from sight, though presently 
she looked out again and softly called him by name. Perceiving 
Frederic’s astonishment, she said, hesitatingly, that she had seen 
him go by before, and hoped he would not be angry with her, for 


THE SEPARATION, 


this was her only opportunity of speaking to him. She wanted to 
remind him of his promise to get her taken on at the farm. She 
had told the old woman of her intention, and she had made no 
objection. 

Frederic thought the time and place she had chosen to proffer 
this request was rather peculiar ; but it was true she had no other 
means of accosting him. He remembered what she had said 
about the miserable life she led with the old crone, and felt sorry 
for her. Whether the pretty brown eyes raised to his so plead- 
ingly had anything to do with his feelings he did not ask himself. 
With true feminine instinct, Jenny had touched the right chord 
in his nature — he always liked to play the protector. So he prom- 
ised to do his utmost to accomplish her desire, and the very next 
day he fulfilled his promise. 

A few days later he paid his projected visit to his parents. He 
was longing to acquaint his mother with his hopes concerning 
Marie, as well as to give her tidings of his brother. But he met 
with disappointment. Mrs. Wilthelm had seen so much of the 
seamy side of life, she was so beaten down with misfortune that all 
her own early illusions having been roughly dispelled, she took a 
pessimistic view of Frederic’s prospects, while she showed eager in- 
terest in all that he had to say about her eldest son, and could not 
take her eyes off a likeness of himself which he had sent her. 
The craving for sympathy is almost, if not quite, as strong in the 
time of happiness as in the season of affliction, and Frederic felt 
hurt and estranged by the comparative indifference his mother 
showed in what was of paramount importance to himself. 

From his father he expected nothing ; he never entered into his 
son’s concerns and cared little what befell others, so long as it did 
not interfere with his own comfort and enjoyment. Thus Fred- 
eric left home vexed and depressed, and this feeling only were off 


64 


THE SEPARATION. 


in some measure as he anticipated meeting Marie again. He de- 
picted to himself in imagination her astonishment and delight at 
his speedy return, and thought how he could best take her by sur- 
prise. Finally, he resolved to go in just as he was. 

But Marie was not to be seen at the door nor at either of the 
windows. The family were taking coffee, yet when Frederic joined 
their circle she was not with them. He could not conceal his 
disappointment. Mrs. Wallmuth looked at him compassionately, 
and presently said in a casual way that to her great surprise 
Marie^s father had taken her home that morning, as her mother 
required her help. She said nothing about illness, nor whether 
Marie would return, and Frederic found it difficult to restrain 
or disguise his uneasiness. No sooner were they alone together, 
than Mrs. Wallmuth broke out into vehement expressions of indig- 
nation against Marie’s father, who had offended her deeply by 
giving her plainly to understand that he considered Marie’s en- 
tanglement with Wilthelm, of which he highly disapproved, was 
due mainly to her efforts. 

Frederic, in his depressed mood, did not think this retort on 
Schmittler’s part as inexcusable as his hostess did. Men do not 
like a relationship of the heart, as yet in the bud, dragged roughly 
into the light. In this respect, they often display finer feelings 
than women. He was silent, but what gave him more relief than 
his friend’s warm sympathy was the fact that Marie had evinced 
no slight grief at leaving, the more so as her father said plainly 
that she was not to return. She had not said much, but she cried 
bitterly. MTien Mrs. Wallmuth asked if she had a farewell mes- 
sage to leave for any one, she threw herself sobbing into her arms, 
and slipped a little bunch of withered gentian into her hand. 

It was not meant for me,” the lady added, with a good-natured 
smile, as she handed the flowers to Frederic. 


THE SEPARATION. 


65 


In mute sorrow, Frederic gazed at the faded blossoms. Mrs. 
Wallmnth endeavored to cheer him. If two people really loved each 
other all the fathers in the world could not part them, she said; 
what was of paramount importance was that he was sure of Marie’s 
affection. Besides, so good a match was not to be met with every 
day ; for the hand of so rich a young lady something must be put 
up with. There was no real obstacle; what Schmittler had said 
about Frederic’s father was an idle tale. 

Mrs. Wallmuth had better have left the last sentence unsaid, 
for Frederic turned white to the lips and looked up sharply, ask- 
ing whether Schmittler had given his reasons for parting them, 
and whether there was any real obstacle to their union except 
his want of means. And as for that, he hoped soon to achieve a 
position for himself and be able to support a wife. If there were 
anything else at which exception could be taken he ought to 
know it. 

Mrs. Wallmuth saw that her unwary tongue had done more 
harm than good. She answered vaguely that people would always 
gossip. His father had at one time had a disagreement with his 
employer, and Frederic’s elder brother had been talked about 
before he emigrated. She had told the old man that those were 
silly stories, and he might look far before he found so upright and 
trustworthy a son-in-law. 

Frederic had to summon all his self-command, and remind 
himself that the good lady meant well, in order not to speak 
severely in regard to this interference in his affairs. He felt as 
if every one combined to rub the bloom off his fruit ; his happiness 
seemed blighted in the bud. It was some time before he could 
convince himself that after all everything was not lost, and in 
reality there was very little change in the position of affairs. 

From Schmittler’s behavior toward him at Arensen Frederic 


66 


THE SEPARATION. 


was aware that he was not favorably disposed in his regard. Both 
he and Marie were prepared to meet with opposition, bnt the 
struggle had begun sooner than they anticipated. Had it not been 
for what Mrs. Wallmuth said, his first impulse would have been 
to seek a personal interview with Marie’s father. Now his con- 
sciousness of the prejudice the old man entertained against his 
family inspired him with a certain timidity, the more so as he 
knew the prejudice to be not altogether unfounded. Finally, he 
resolved to write to Marie’s parents quite frankly ; adding that he 
should not press his suit for her hand imtil he had an independent 
position to offer her. 


A STORMY INTERVIEW. 


67 


CHAPTER VI. 

A STORMY INTERVIEV". 

Marie Schmittler^s tears flowed fast as she drove home by 
her father’s side. She could not restrain them, though she per- 
ceived that the sight of them made him cross. Once he observed 
that she appeared very sorry to go back to her parents; it was 
therefore high time she did so, or she would be quite estranged 
from them. Marie made no reply, but his remark had the effect 
of awakening her to the consciousness that of late she had al- 
lowed her filial affection to grow cold. 

Wliat had passed between her father andMrs. Wallmuth she did 
not know. She suspected, however, that the alleged reason for 
her return — her mother’s need of help — was only a pretext. Yet 
what did it matter ? As far as Frederic was concerned she had no 
cause for uneasiness. She knew what were his feelings, she was 
sure of his heart. Silently she gave thanks that the separation 
had not taken place earlier, before they had come to a mutual 
understanding, while each doubted the other. Marie had often 
heard it said that the course of true love did not run smooth, and 
she thought firmness and patience would ere long remove all hin- 
drances, overcome all prejudices. When her parents once knew 
Frederic’s sterling worth, she was certain they would not 
withhold their consent. Perhaps her father thought she was 
too young; well, that was a fault that each day helped to amend, 
and hitherto he had never withstood her petitions. It pleased 


88 


A STORMY INTERVIEW, 


her to think that Mrs. Wallmuth would explain her sudden de- 
parture fully to Frederic; in fact, she smiled as she imagined the 
zeal wherewith her friend would acquit herself of that task. 

The smile was still on Marie’s lips as she neared her home. 
In spite of all, her heart beat high as the familiar scenes met her 
eye, and friendly faces saluted her as the carriage passed through 
the village street, till it drew up at the farmyard gate, where the 
dogs sprang to meet her with a boisterous welcome, and her 
mother’s smiling countenance appeared at the open door. 

Mrs. Schmittlerwas more demonstrative than usual in her greet- 
ing, as if she fancied that her daughter would be sorry to come 
home. So she received her in a very affectionate manner, which 
went to Marie’s heart, and stifled, for a time at least, her feelings of 
regret. But when the novelty of being again at home, the interest 
awakened by revisiting every well-known spot in house and garden 
wore off, the feelings, temporarily hushed, asserted themselves 
anew. Perhaps this would not have been so much the case had 
Marie really been wanted to help in the household, but her mother 
had the idea that after all that had been spent on her education 
she was above housework, and besides, she liked to show that she 
herself was sufficient for all those matters. So Marie for the most 
part sat alone in her parents’ parlor, indulging her dreams and 
her longings, while her father was out in the fields and her mother 
busy in the kitchen. 

Days and weeks went by, and she began to become anxious 
at hearing nothing from Frederic. He had promised to present 
himself to her father in the character of a suitor as soon as he had 
consulted his parents, but as yet he had not given a sign. Marie 
concluded that he was waiting until his prospects were improved, 
but she could not reason away her uneasiness or appease her desire 
to see her lover again. Nor had she heard from Mrs. Wallmuth 


A STORMY INTERVIEW. 


69 


since her abrupt departure, though she had herself written 
to her. 

Thus time wore on, and September was already there when one 
Sunday afternoon, on Marie’s return from church, she heard loud 
voices in altercation in her father’s room. She observed a forester’s 
cap and a sportsmanlike stick in the hall, and a secret foreboding 
told her that this visitor had something to do with Frederic Wilt- 
helm. Her mother, who was preparing the coffee, showed some 
embarrassment when she inquired who was with her father, and 
evidently wished that she had not come back quite so early. In 
fact, she proposed thai Marie should go to see one of her friends, 
but the girl paid no heed to this suggestion. She stood in the hall, 
her hand pressed to her heart, and her eyes fixed on the closed door. 
Could it be Frederic who v/as there, urging his suit? Ho; it was 
not his voice. She stood spellbound on the spot, until the door 
opened and the stranger came out. It was evident that he did not 
part on the best of terms with her father, who stood on the thresh- 
old of his room with an angry fiush on his face, without show- 
ing any courtesy to his departing guest. 

Marie drew back, and the stranger, an elderly man in forester’s 
uniform, with some medals on his breast, tall and upright, with an 
unpleasant expression, half cunning, half cringing, on his some- 
what rubicund countenance, passed out with an uncertain step, 
muttering something about the cursed pride of peasants. Could 
that be Frederic’s father? It was hardly possible, Marie thought, 
yet she could not deny that there was a certain resemblance be- 
tween them. 

Marie saw the fierce look wherewith her father eyed the stranger 
and shut the door after him. She heard him scold her mother 
for setting the coffee on the table. Such fellows should not sit 
down at his table, he said, who could not boast an honest name, 


70 


A STORMY INTERVIEW. 


and could not even come to him without being the worse for liquor. 
Mrs. Schmittler hastened submissively to remove the coffee. As 
she did so, Marie’s pale face was beside her, and her voice whis- 
pered: Who was that, mother? Was his name Wilthelm? ” 

The good lady could not bear to see any one agitated. She gave 
Marie an evasive answer, and said he had business with Schmittler, 
not with her. 

Marie doubted no longer. She felt that she could expect no 
help from her mother, and a singular look of determination settled 
upon her usually gentle countenance. 

Old Schmittler was about to go for a stroll to recover his equa- 
nimity. He put on his cap and was filling his pipe when Marie 
presented herself before him. He asked her, as if nothing unusual 
had happened, if she had been long back from church, and would 
she go for a little walk with him. 

But Marie did not heed his questions. Unable to restrain her 
emotion, or await a more opportune moment, she fixed her eyes on 
him and asked: Was that the forester, Wilthelm, who was with 
you just now, father ? WThat did he want ? ” 

The assumed kindliness of the old man’s manner vanished. He 
made as if he would leave the room without answering, but Marie 
stood between him and the door, and he could not go out with- 
out putting her aside. 

Did Mr. Wilthelm take your fancy to such an extent that 
you must ask about him ? ” he replied with a sneer. He has been 
such a favorite all his life long with the ladies, like his gentle- 
man son.” 

Marie turned crimson. Father,” she said, folding her hands 
in entreaty, all her firmness forsaking her suddenly, Father, has 
Frederic Wilthelm written you a letter lately — or has anything 
happened that should make his father come here ? ” 


A STORMY INTERVIEW. 


n 


“ Oh, indeed ! So it is Mr. Frederic Wilthelm in whom you take 
so warm an interest? On his account you fretted so at coming 
home? I hoped you would have learned better at your convent 
school than to carry on a love affair behind your parents’ back. 
I might have known/’ he went on, his anger rising, how it would 
be where a Wilthelm was. Mr. Steward thought he would get 
into a well-feathered nest ! I know what they are, all the lot of 
them, and I saw at Arensen what he was after. Yes; that is why 
I fetched you home; to get those fancies out of your head. Yow 
you know how matters stand. Let me hear no more of that man. 
Put him out of your mind. I would sooner die than let a Wilt- 
helm ever take possession of my farm ! ” He spoke with ever-in- 
creasing vehemence, and to enforce his words dashed his cap 
down on to the table. 

Almost unconsciously, two large tears rolled down the girl’s 
cheeks. “ What did Frederic write to you ? ” she asked, as if she 
had not heard. And what did his father want ? ” 

What did he want ? ” blustered the old man, stamping his foot 
on the floor. What did he want ? After I had spoken my mind 
to his son and sent him about his business, he sent his father, the 
old braggart, to make matters straight. He did us the honor, as 
he himself said, of paying us a visit. He probably thought we 
should thank God on our knees for the privilege of providing his 
son with a comfortable home, such as he had had with his father- 
in-law. It is enough to look at him to see what he is, for all his 
boasting and his military decorations. I made the drunken brute 
a low bow, and declared such a connection was quite above us ; his 
gentleman son could aspire to a grander match. I could not give 
my daughter as much as he could give his son; for the present I 
would rather eat my bread without any interlopers.” The old 
man chuckled at his own wit, in spite of his wrath. 


A BTOBMY mTERYIEW, 




Marie stood still. Only by the twitching of her lips did she 
betray what it cost her to listen to her father’s diatribes. She ven- 
tured to say a few words in defense of Frederic. He was no 
boaster, and frequently disapproved of what his father said, 
though he was too good a son to speak against him. He did not 
pretend to have means, but hoped with industry and effort to 
get on. 

Schmittler only launched forth into fresh invectives, and on 
his daughter asking whether he had told Frederic that he alone 
was responsible for his refusal and she had no word in the matter, 
he answered imperiously that what he had written was his business, 
not hers, and he strictly forbade the exchange of any love-letters, 
or any communication between the two. He had also warned Mrs. 
Wallmuth not to act as go-between. 

How,” he concluded, I have heard enough of the whole busi- 
ness. Let me^pass out, that I may at least end my Sunday after- 
noon in peace.” So saying, he took up his pipe and his stick, 
which had fallen to the floor. 

Father,” Marie cried in the same low but decided tone as be- 
fore, if I do not marry Frederic I will have no other husband. 
I know he is good and upright and you wrong him.” 

I will have no other ! That is what many girls have said,” 
her father replied indifferently. If all the fancies girls of sev- 
enteen take came to anything there would be more misery in the 
world than there is now. I can manage my own property without 
Monsieur Frederic’s help.” So saying he passed by Marie and 
went out. 

For a few moments Marie remained standing by the door, try- 
ing to realize what had happened. She felt like one awaking 
from a dream, and covered her face with her hands. The sound of 
her mother’s step recalled her to herself. She was not accus- 


A STORMY INTERVIEW. 


73 


tomed to have recourse to her in her joys and sorrows, and she 
was well aware that she would take part with her husband. This 
Marie felt she could not bear — not at that moment. Like a hunted 
animal she sprang out of the low window', to avoid meeting her 
mother, and hastened into the garden which was behind the house. 

The garden was not calculated to afford a refuge for one who 
sought solitude in her grief. Every inch was utilized, the straight 
paths and trim borders offered no shelter. Only at the farthest 
end was a small arbor between two nut trees. It was a typical 
peasant's garden, and in the day time one might be sure not to be 
disturbed in the little arbor. There Marie gave unrestrained 
course to her tears. How harsh her father was ; how hurt Frederic 
would feel ; how long it would be before she saw him again ! But 
why had he sent that horrid forester to make matters worse ? 

Her only consolation was that Frederic had really written as he 
promised; but then, 0 terrible thought! was it possible that he 
might think Marie was untrue to him ; that she coincided in her 
father’s decision, and no hope was left him? 

A slight cough close by startled her. Her first thought was that 
some one was watching her, and she was about to hasten away, 
when she perceived that the sound came from the neighboring 
garden, that of the presbytery, which was separated from Schmitt- 
ler’s garden by the road, and, looking across, she descried the bent 
form of the aged priest among his fiowers. It was a ray of light 
amid the darkness and confusion of her mind. She remembered 
all that the good old man had been to her in her childhood. She 
had spent happier hours in his garden than in her parents’ house, 
where rher father and mother were too busy to pay much heed 
to their child, who was often in the way of their restless activity. 
But the kind pastor had always made his little neighbor with the 
calm, intelligent eyes welcome in his house and garden. Living 


74 


A. STORMY INTERJIEW, 


as he did far from the turmoil of the world, he had preserved that 
simplicity which makes a man able to feel for and with children, 
and intercourse with him had done more to form the child’s char- 
acter than her subsequent education. It now occurred to her that 
she had neglected her kind friend of late ; since her return she had 
not been to see him. The fear of being questioned as to the cause 
of her return had partly kept her from it. But now it seemed a sud- 
den inspiration to seek counsel from him, than whom no one could 
advise her better. Her parents could not object to her pouring her 
heart out to him. Without waiting to deliberate longer she slipped 
through a gap in the hedge and presented herself, with a beating 
heart, in the presbytery. 

The priest bade her a cordial welcome and made her sit down. 
He was going to ask jokingly whether she had forgotten her old 
friend, since she had not been to see him for so long a time, when 
he noticed her heightened color, and that she was struggling to 
repress her tears. This surprised him in one usually placid and 
serene. He asked whether anything had happened, if her parents 
were ill, or had received some bad news. And when she shook her 
head in answer, unable to formulate the cause of her distress, the 
old man grew graver, and begged her to tell him what agitated 
her thus. Perhaps his knowledge of young people led him to guess 
the truth, for he added a few words about foolish flirtations, which 
parents had every right to condemn. 

In this he did wisely, for it woke Marie’s pride; she knew her 
attachment did not deserve to be called a foolish flirtation. Her 
shyness vanished, and she told her pastor the whole story from 
beginning to end, asking help and counsel from him. 

The priest felt placed in a difficult position. He did not doubt 
the truth of Marie’s tale, and he knew the stubborn obstinacy of 
her father’s character. With regard to the Wilthelms, he was 


A STORMY INTERYIEW. 


75 


aware that not much good was to be said of the father, but the son 
might be an excellent young fellow. Yet he could not encourage 
Marie in opposing her parents. He told her not to give way to her 
feelings, to wait and see what time would effect. She and Frederic 
were both young. If her lover was really worthy of her, her father 
might be induced to consent to her union with him later on. But 
he warned her not to plight her troth too soon. Vows of fidelity 
were lightly taken, and in youth it appeared easy to keep them. 
But life was long and one’s feelings underwent strange changes. 
Then such vows weighed heavily on the conscience, and sometimes 
were the ruin of a life. 

Marie listened to his kindly words, but she did not understand 
how feelings so deep-rooted as she knew hers to be could ever 
change, and her venerable friend read in her eyes that it was so. 
Yet the main question remained : was she to leave Frederic under 
the impression that she acquiesced in her father’s decision, and was 
unfaithful to him? She looked so distressed, so sorrowful, that 
the old man could not refrain from speaking a word of consola- 
tion. The young man had a right to know the truth. He would 
take upon himself to acquaint him with it, and at the same time 
he would endeavor to obtain reliable information as to his charac- 
ter and circumstances. If Marie’s good opinion of him were con- 
firmed, she must have patience and trust in God’s good 
providence. 

Marie dried her eyes, thanked her kind adviser and took her 
leave. She had attained her end, but her heart was still heavy. 
She went home through the village, to avoid being asked where 
she had been so long. As she passed the inn, through the open 
window she caught sight of the stalwart form of Forester Wilt- 
helm, and his rubicund, bloated visage. The ill-result of his 
mission had not dampened his spirits. A pack of cards lay on 


76 


A STORMY INTERVIEW, 


the table beside a brimming tankard, and Marie saw him chuck 
the barmaid under the chin with a familiar jest. 

A cold shiver ran over poor Marie. Was this what made his 
Keverence cautious and her father irate? It even inspired her 
with a momentary doubt of her lover, and though she scolded her- 
self for the thought, the effect upon her was depressing. 

When she got home her father was out, her mother busy as ever. 
She felt rest and solitude were indispensable, and pleading a 
headache, which was no mere excuse, she went to her room. 

Although it was early, kindly sleep soon brought her the obliv- 
ion which she needed. Had her heavy eyelids not closed so soon 
she would have seen her mother’s stout form creep gently to the 
bedside, in tender maternal anxiety for her child. She was not 
sorry to find her asleep, for the good woman’s words were few; 
she would toil for her daughter day and night, but to solace and 
help her in sorrow was beyond her power. Had Marie known that 
she sympathized with her, she might have had more confidence 
in her affection. 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


77 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE RED CARNATIONS. 

Of the storm which Wilthelm the forester’s visit raised in 
the Schmittler household, the person most concerned knew least. 
Frederic, had he heard Marie’s sorrowful inquiry why he had 
sent his father to plead for him, could have answered nothing; 
his father had acted on his own responsibility, and not said a 
word about it to his son. In fact, of late he had done a great 
. many things about which he would not have cared to give an 
account to Frederic. 

The letter which the young man wrote to Schmittler soon after 
Marie left Gubstedt, setting forth his wishes, his plans, and his 
intentions, and asking permission, since Marie reciprocated his 
affection, to be received as a suitor for her hand as soon as he had 
obtained an independent position, met with a curt and disdainful 
answer. Modest as his request was, it was abruptly refused, and 
no room left for hope. As Schmittler did not mention Marie, 
Frederic rightly concluded that her father had not consulted her, 
and this alone gave him comfort. Like all true-hearted men, he 
did not know mistrust; he believed that Marie would remain 
faithful in spite of her father. He felt it very hard not to be 
allowed to see her, especially as no parting word had been ex- 
changed between them, but the thought of clandestine intercourse, 
or even secret correspondence, never occurred to his mind; he 
would have thought less of Marie had she consented to any 
underhand dealings. 


78 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


Mrs. Wallmuth displayed less patience than the lovers them- 
selves. She wished to play the part of patroness, and was not a 
little irate when the first letter she wrote to Marie, in which she 
allowed herself all manner of allusions, was returned by Mr. 
Schmittler with the simple remark that he did not permit his 
daughter to receive such letters. She wondered Frederic and 
Marie could submit to such tyranny, she said, and was only 
pacified by her husband’s assurances that if they were true to 
each other, the old man would strike a different key when Frederic 
was master of his own farm. 

Frederic wrote and told his mother that for the present his 
plans were frustrated, but that he would not give up hope. She 
laid the letter down with a sigh, little surprised that a scheme 
had failed which she never believed would prove successful. Her 
mind had of late been full of other thoughts. For some days past 
there had been a fresh inmate of the Wilthelms’ house, a guest 
whose presence had to be kept secret. One evening, after dark, 
when Wilthelm returned home, he brought Will with him. His 
mother nearly fainted when she recognized her son, whether 
through joy or fright she hardly knew. Yet maternal love got 
the upper hand, and she rejoiced to embrace the wanderer once 
more. 

When and where he met his father Will did not say. He 
only impressed upon her that he did not wish it known that he 
had returned, and he went out very early every morning, only 
coming back at nightfall. With his father he held long con- 
ferences; his mother remained in ignorance of the subject dis- 
cussed, Will giving her to understand that he intended to give 
up his wandering life and try to get a situation as under forester. 
He had passed hitherto under an assumed name, and should do 
so still, 


THE RED CARVATIOtJS. 


79 


His mother listened with apprehension to his schemes for the 
future, but his father seemed quite delighted. When his wife 
communicated the contents of Frederic’s letter to him, he replied 
that that was the way with a cut-and-dried lad like him, who 
had not the courage to show a bold face to the old peasant. Now 
his Will, he said, rubbing his hands, was cast in a different mold ; 
for all his wild ways he was a better fellow, and always managed 
to land on his feet. Yet it was a pity that Frederic should lose 
a good match. He must say a word on his behalf ; he had served 
in the army with old Schmittler, and could claim acquaintance 
with him on that ground. Besides, the Wilthelms had married 
well in past times; his grandfather was Head Forester in the 
royal forests, and married the daughter of a councilor; his sons 
were not to be despised, even though they had no lands of their 
own. 

All this made little impression on Mrs. Wilthelm, for she 
knew that her husband loved to boast. The hint that he had some 
fresh means of procuring money was new to her. For two years 
past he had often been absent from home at night, but his wife 
had long ago given up all attempts to discover the reason of his 
absence, as she only feared that the truth, if she knew it, would 
be anything but pleasant. 

Wilthelm did not say a word to his wife about his visit to 
his former comrade Schmittler. That day he not only sought to 
drown his annoyance at the village inn; later on he repaired to 
the mill, and spent the night there in the company of the old 
woman, the hunchback, and his son Will, not returning home 
until the small hours of the morning. Any one who listened to 
what went on would have heard the same chink of money being 
counted out as in the night when the meeting was held beneath 
the beacon, 


80 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


Although Frederic remained in ignorance of his father’s visit 
to Schmittler, it had one good result for him. Owing to the sin- 
gular reserve maintained in her father’s house, nothing would 
have been said on the subject, and Marie would not have had re- 
course to the priest, hut for Wilthelm’s interference. In his 
letter to Frederic the priest did not mention the father’s visit, 
but merely said that he could rest assured that Marie had nothing 
to do with the rejection of his offer; that her feelings had not 
changed, and she would remain true to him. He could only 
advise him to take no further steps at present, but submit to the 
decision of her parents. 

The assurances that came from Marie’s heart sounded cer- 
tainly very different when expressed in the cold, measured terms 
of the worthy priest’s letter; yet there was a friendly tone about 
it, and Frederic was rejoiced to know for certain that Marie had 
not acquiesced tamely in her father’s rejection of his suit. In his 
answer he promised, with grateful thanks, to follow the priest’s 
counsel, and wait, in the hope of winning Marie at last for his 
bride. At the same time he told him the plans he had formed 
for the future. 

Frederic was not much of a letter writer, yet his letter bore 
the impress of truth and loyalty, and made a good impression on 
the priest. All the inquiries he made, moreover, as to the young 
man’s character and mode of life were satisfactory. This he told 
Marie, promising also to use his influence on her behalf with her 
father, if she bore the trial bravely. Thenceforth the girl’s face 
wore a more contented expression, and she went singing about 
the house. 

The fortunes of another girl took a turn for the better about 
that time. Mrs. Wallmuth had, at Frederic’s suggestion, taken 
Jenny into her service. The girl got on very well at the farm, 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


81 


and Frederic had no reason to regret his recommendation. In 
fact, she soon became a great favorite with her mistress. At 
first she had been set to field work, but in consequence of her 
good behavior she was soon entrusted with the care of the elder 
of the two boys, who was two years old, and given other indoor 
work. She acquitted herself well whatever she had to do, and 
if she did not accomplish in reahty more than others, she ap- 
peared to do so. With the exception of her mistress, she was not 
liked by the women of the house, the other servants being jealous 
of her, but all the men had a good word for her ; they were pleased 
with her pretty face, her cheerful manner, and the saucy answers 
whereby she knew how to attract or repel their advances. 

Toward Frederic her demeanor was always respectful, for 
she regarded him as her benefactor and patron. Engrossed with 
his own thoughts and projects, he did not remark all the little 
services and attentions wherewith she sought, as she said, to testify 
her gratitude to him. Never before had his room been kept so 
clean and in such good order as since she had been in the house, 
and often he found a bunch of flowers on his table. If he ex- 
pressed a wish, she flew to fulfil it, and when he returned home 
after a long ride, he found her ready to take his horse and lead 
it to the stables. She seldom got more than a passing word or a 
nod of the head in thanks, but the young man liked to see that 
she was grateful to him. He considered himself in some measure 
responsible for her, and did not scruple to reprove her, if he 
thought her manner bold or flighty. 

She took his rebukes as well as his admonitions in silence, and 
with an appearance of humility ; but when he had gone away, she 
knitted her dark brows, pouted her rosy lips, and looked after 
him with no very amiable expression. The old yard-man, Claus, 
was often a spectator of these scenes, 


82 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


Try as you may/’ he one day said to her, you won’t catch 
him. He has another sweetheart, a better one than you.” 

I don’t want him, the stiff bit of leather ! ” J enny retorted 
with a forced laugh, as she went off warbling a love ditty. 

She is a crafty thing, she is,” muttered the old man. She 
sets her cap at the steward, sure enough, but these giddy girls 
have two strings to their bow. If they can not have one, the other 
will do as well. It is not for the old woman’s sake that she is 
always running to the mill. Well, they may find it out for them- 
selves,” he concluded, with the reticence of his class, with whom 
it is a point of honor, as well as a selfish consideration, not to 
betray the goings on of their fellow-servants. 

Mrs. Wallmuth knew of Jenny’s visits to the mill, and will- 
ingly allowed them, for she thought it was a good trait in the 
girl’s character not to forsake her aged relative. She was all 
the further from suspecting any ulterior motive, as she was fully 
acquainted with the hermit-like, secluded life led by the old 
woman, who on her part seemed to appreciate the girl’s attach- 
ment, since Jenry seldom returned without a gay kerchief or 
some such trifle which her godmother had given her. 

Three months had now elapsed since that bright August 
morning which witnessed the joining of several threads of human 
life, tiU then separate. The harvest home was to be kept on the 
farm ; that festival, according to the local custom, not being cele- 
brated immediately after the ingathering of the cereal crops, but 
only when all the fruits of the earth were safely garnered. This 
year it took place later than usual in consequence of heavy and 
persistent rains, which retarded the completion of the work. 
Already the autumn fogs shrouded the face of the earth, giving 
a melancholy aspect to the landscape. But at the farm at Gub- 
stedt no element of melancholy prevailed. A group of minstrels 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


83 


were stationed at the farmhouse door, doing their best to enliven 
the company in the long room, where every member of the house- 
hold, dependents and menials, were assembled, in noisy fashion 
drinking the health of the master, mistress, steward, housekeeper, 
and every official in turn. 

But although Fredericks name was one of the first proposed, 
and many complimentary things were said of him, he was not 
there to return thanks for the ovation. Early that morning he 
had received a message from a friend living in the neighborhood 
who wanted him on business of importance, and he had ridden 
over in obedience to the summons. Although he promised to be 
back in time for the opening of the feast, he had not yet put in 
an appearance, and the young man who was learning farming 
under his charge had to return thanks in his place. Another 
honor devolved on him in consequence of Fredericks absence — 
that of opening the ball with Mrs. Wallmuth, and for this oc- 
casion he had crammed his large, muscular hands into a pair of 
kid gloves. Despite these distinctions, the young fellow seemed 
restless, and his wandering glances sought some one who was 
not present. Jenny, too, was missing; the day before no one had 
anticipated the festive occasion with more rejoicing — now she 
was not there to share in it. That morning the little hunchback 
had come and called her to go to the mill, as the old woman was 
ill. At first the girl seemed inclined to disobey so inopportune 
a summons, but suddenly she altered her mind and went, hoping, 
however, to be back in time for the dancing. Her absence seemed 
to have a most depressing effect on the youth with the white 
gloves — which he judiciously transferred to his pocket after the 
first dance — for he sat gloomily in a corner, his eyes fixed on the 
highroad, which could be seen from thence. 

Wilthelm had been detained by various causes. The business 


84 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


with his friend was soon despatched. He hoped to have had 
the offer of some farm that he could rent, but instead of this a 
proposal was made to him which under present circumstances it 
seemed impossible to accept. A relative of his friend had gone 
to Eussia to try his fortune, and had made it. He now was pre- 
pared to offer some active young man the opportunity of a career 
similar to his own. A Eussian magnate with whom he was ac- 
quainted was seeking a German administrator for his extensive 
estates in the south of Eussia. The conditions were most liberal, 
as a man of skill and energy, as well as one perfectly trustworthy 
and reliable, was required to fill the post. Even according to 
the standard of the country the remuneration was placed at a high 
figure : according to German ideas it was unheard of. 

The friend who thought that Wilthelm was the very man for 
the place had in the joy of his heart hastened to communicate 
the proposal to him. He could not understand why Wilthelm did 
not accept it immediately, but rather seemed as if he would de- 
cline it. At any rate he would not take his decision as final, and 
bade him think the matter over, as the post had not to be filled 
until Easter. Wilthelm required no time for deliberation. Apart 
from the fact that Marie’s parents would never consent to her 
going to Eussia with him, his own great love for her could not 
endure the thought of so complete a separation. He would rather 
content himself with a far humbler post in his own country, how- 
ever long he had to wait for it. 

As he was entering the wood on his way home he was sur- 
prised to hear a voice behind him bidding him Good day,” and 
turning, he saw his brother. He was almost as much startled at 
recognizing him as on the first day at Arensen, for he thought 
that he had gone away with the band of musicians. The first 
glance sufficed to show a change in his circumstances; Will was 


THE RED CARNATIONS, 


85 


fully equipped as a sportsman; rifle and game-bag were slung 
round his shoulder, and a handsome pointer followed at his heels. 
Another change was observable in his person : his curly locks were 
closely clipped and a beard of some weeks^ growth greatly dimin- 
ished his likeness to Frederic. 

I could not let Your Excellency go by without a salutation,’^ 
Will began, in the satirical tone he usually adopted when ad- 
dressing his brother. 

I thought you were far away by this time,” Frederic an- 
swered gravely, holding out his hand. ^^How did you come by 
that sportsman’s dress?” he asked, half suspiciously. ^^This 
forest is private property, and the game laws are strictly en- 
forced.” 

As has just been proved to you; you see for yourself that you 
can not so much as ride through the wood without encountering 
one of the gamekeepers. It is my duty to look after vert and 
venison. If you wish to inspect my papers, here they are,” and 
he handed Frederic a packet which he took from his pocket. 

Henry Law” was the name that met Frederic’s eyes, fol- 
lowed by the birthplace and all particulars required by the law. 
The above-named was certifled to be the under gamekeeper, or 
assistant to Ellring, the forester. Will went on to explain that 
the rightful owner of the papers died in the port before embark- 
ing on his return to Europe, and he had constituted himself his 
heir in regard to his certiflcates, etc. 

I told you in Arensen that I was passing under an assumed 
name,” he continued, ^^and if Your Excellency will condescend 
to alight from your horse for awhile I will give some further ex- 
planations.” 

His brother’s sneers only increased Frederic’s cold reserve. 
He was by no means glad that his brother had turned up again. 


86 


THE RED CARNATIONS, 


He alighted, however, fastened his horse to a tree, and followed 
Will to their former place of meeting, where, the latter declared, 
they could converse more freely. The Sign of the old Beacon is 
rather an inhospitable place of entertainment,^^ he ran on, but 
well suited for secret meetings ; our fraternal affection need not 
be displayed before all the world. Nevertheless the place is too 
romantic for matter-of-fact people like ourselves : you know it is 
said to be haunted. Perhaps you, with your fair sweetheart — 

Frederic cut him short. '^You were going to tell me about 
yourself,” he said. “ How did you get old Ellring to take you on ? 
Why did you give up your wandering life ? ” 

Wandering about is not very pleasant in winter, and as I 
told you, the forest has a wonderful attraction for me. I heard 
in one of the villages that Ellring wanted an assistant; I applied 
for the post, and when the old boy found what a good marksman 
I am, he was glad to have me. He has the gout, and often has to 
keep to his room. I have been here six weeks. You knew that 
Ellring wanted a young fellow to go his rounds for him, didn’t 
you ? ” 

Frederic remembered hearing Wallmuth mention the fact, 
and also having been told that the old forester was well pleased 
with the young man’s ability and activity. He inquired whether 
Will had told his parents that he had obtained the situation. 
Will answered evasively, and began to speak of Frederic’s love 
affairs. Apropos,” he said, I hear all has not gone smoothly 
with your love making. Of course I mean the rich farmer’s 
daughter, not the dark little witch I saw you with in Arensen. 
She is much the better looking, and probably to be had more 
easily.” As he spoke a crimson carnation that was in his button- 
hole, and with which he was toying, fell to the ground. 

Frederic picked it up and gave it back to his brother, over 


THE RED CAREATI0E8, 


67 


whose features a singular expression passed as he returned it to 
its place. 

They were talking of the young lady at Ellring’s the other 
day/^ he continued. She has many other suitors, wealthy young 
fellows, regular swells, on whom her father docs not frown. Don’t 
be prudish and let the old fellow override you. Wherever I have 
been I have said the girl was engaged to the steward at Gubstedt. 
That keeps lovers off, and hurts the old man’s pride.” 

Frederic started to his feet, indignant at his brother’s in- 
terference. The answer that rose to his lips was, however, not 
uttered, for at that moment the hunchback stepped out of the 
thicket. He seemed surprised at finding any one there, and at 
first made a movement to draw back; then he crossed over and 
took the path leading out of the wood, raising his cap as he passed 
the two young men. 

Frederic returned the salutation ; he did not notice the furtive 
glance the newcomer exchanged with Will, who as soon as he 
was gone began to question Frederic about his acquaintance with 
him. Frederic briefly narrated when and where he had seen the 
dwarf ; then reverting to his own affairs, he told his brother that 
he might do as he pleased himself, but — his voice quivered with 
agitation as he spoke — he must forbid him so much as to men- 
tion his affairs to any one, or allow Marie’s name to pass his lips. 
He spoke with more vehemence than the occasion required, as 
he acknowledged when his brother coolly rejoined that he had 
meant no harm, but they had never got on well together from 
their childhood, and they had better see as little of each other 
as possible now. If Frederic liked to go to Ellring’s sometimes, 
he need not be afraid of meeting him; he should know how to 
keep clear of him — he contrived to know all who came and went 
that way. 


88 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


He was about to depart with a sarcastic bow, but Frederic 
stopped him. Do not let us part thus, Will,’^ he said. I spoke 
hastily, but there are some things in which one can not tolerate 
interference. And do keep steady, for our mother’s sake.’’ 

Will was not in a mood to take advice ; he whistled to his dog 
and disappeared in the wood, while Frederic went back to his 
horse. He had not gone far before he heard a second whistle; 
little did he suspect that at the sound of that signal the hunch- 
back stepped from his place of concealment behind a tree and 
hurried to the beacon, where he held a long conference with Will. 

As Frederic passed the mill on his way back to Gubstedt, he 
chanced to observe in the neglected garden some carnations, on 
which, in spite of the November rains, a few crimson blossoms 
remained, and involuntarily he remembered seeing a similar 
bloom in his brother’s hand that day. A little further on, to 
his surprise, he overtook Jenny, who was evidently also on her 
way to the farm; he asked her how it was she had remained so 
late, the dancing must have begun long ago. 

The girl stammered some excuse about the old woman having 
kept her. Frederic noticed that her boots and the skirt of her 
dress were bespattered with mud, much more so than could be 
accounted for by the short distance she had walked from the 
mill. Jenny read his thoughts, and said she had had to go to 
Dreesen to get medicine for the invalid. 

Not long after Frederic had joined the company Jenny got 
back to the farm. No one remarked their almost simultaneous re- 
appearance except the apprentice, who had not quitted his place 
of observation. Frederic was cordially welcomed when he joined 
the assembled company, which consisted of several of the neigh- 
boring farmers, as well as the inmates of the house. When 
questioned as to the business that required his absence from the 


THE RED CARNATIONS. 


89 


harvest home he told his interrogators of the situation offered him. 
Every one was astounded at the amount of the salary, and a 
sharp discussion of the pros and cons ensued; but Frederic 
seemed to have made up his mind so completely to decline the 
^ proposal that there was no room for good advice. 

To avoid hearing all that was said on the subject Frederic 
betook himself to the barn, where the dancing was going on. He 
felt obliged to dance a few times, then he remained a spectator 
of the merriment. J enny was in her wildest mood ; she was wear- 
ing a coral necklace which he never remembered seeing before, 
and in her bosom was a bunch of red carnations. This was the 
third time that day that those late flowers had been brought 
under Frederic’s notice, but it did not strike him that this was 
more than mere chance. Jenny was monopolized by the young 
farmer who had waited so long for her, and the two became so 
uproarious in their mirth and so unseemly in their behavior that 
it was remarked upon by others, and Frederic felt obliged to 
reprove them. Jenny took his admonition so ill that she burst 
into tears and declared she would not dance any more, nor could 
she be moved from her resolution, despite the entreaties of her 
admirer, who did not conceal his anger against the steward. 
Frederic felt so annoyed at the girl that he repented having been 
instrumental in bringing her to the farm. 

That evening as he went his rounds to see that all was in 
order for the night he encountered the apprentice, his face con- 
torted with rage. He muttered some insulting speeches, of which 
Frederic took no heed, as the young fellow had evidently been 
drinking. 


90 


FREDERICS DISGOYERY, 


CHAPTER VIIL 

FREDERIC'S DISCOVERY. 

What Will Wilthelm told his brother about the number of 
suitors for Marie Schmittler’s hand was not without foundation. 
Her father’s easy circumstances were too well known not to excite 
the cupidity of many a careful parent, who cherished the hope 
that the heiress of the old man’s broad acres might look favor- 
ably on his son. But those who came to Wiesen on matrimonial 
designs intent met with little encouragement. They seldom got 
speech with Marie, who managed to elude them, either by ab- 
senting herself from the house or busying herself in some work. 
Her father did not tell her of the proposals made to him; he 
knew that the most eligible suitor would not find acceptance with 
her while her head was full of fancies,” as he said, and he wisely 
judged that to attempt coercion would be useless. 

Among the numerous suitors two were specially persistent. 
One was a young farmer, the owner of considerable landed prop- 
erty, who, having neither parents nor sister, was desirous of 
marrying; the other, a young doctor, who had made Marie’s ac- 
quaintance at a festive gathering in the town. She had joined 
a singing class, which met in the winter, and went to balls in the 
Casino, where she found herself among persons of a superior 
class, for the Schmittlers, unpretentious as they were themselves, 
were ambitious for their daughter, and desirous besides of pro- 
curing distractions and amusement for her. 


FREDERICKS DISGOYERT. 


91 


Dr. Fenthal, a clever young man, was much taken by the 
grave, simple girl, who on her part felt the attraction of his re- 
finement and enjoyed his conversation, which her superior educa- 
tion enabled her to appreciate and understand. As often as he 
had professional visits to pay at Wiesen, he called at the Schmitt- 
lers’, and Marie, far from avoiding him, sat at her needlework 
listening to his conversation, which was of a type superior to 
that which she heard every day. Under other circumstances her 
father would not have tolerated such a suitor, but his detestation 
of the Wilthelms made him willing to accept any one whom 
Marie favored. Mrs. Schmittler received the doctor most gra- 
ciously, her feminine vanity flattered by the attentions of a man 
in a rank above her, and she rejoiced in the prospect of her 
daughter being the wife of a professional man. 

Marie meanwhile never suspected the object of the young 
man’s visits. While she viewed all the young farmers of the 
vicinity as probable suitors, and therefore to be avoided, engrossed 
in the thought of her love for Frederic, she failed to observe all 
that the doctor endeavored to convey in word and look. 

Thus the winter passed, and the spring returned without any 
material change in the relation of the persons in whom the reader 
is interested. The assistant at Gubstedt could not overcome his 
dislike to Frederic, to whose influence he attributed Jenny’s per- 
sistent repulsion of his advances. Frederic gave him no ground 
for supposing any intimacy between himself and Jenny, but the 
young man had got the idea in his head, and he fancied they 
concealed their connection. 

Jenny continued her visits to the mill. Singularly enough, 
the old woman appeared to have grown generous since the girl 
had gone to service, for at Christmas time she brought back no 
end of presents — all articles of finery^ — which she alleged her 


92 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


godmother had given her. Whether this was believed was another 
question. The other servants shrugged their shoulders, and it 
was whispered about that Jenny had more money in her pocket 
than she could have come by rightly. But as far as her work was 
concerned there was no fault to be found with her. The children 
were fond of her, and Mrs. Wallmuth liked her. 

Wilthelm’s attempts during the winter to meet with a farm 
which he could rent had all proved unsuccessful. He had not 
seen his brother again, and he had avoided going to Ellrings’ not 
only for fear of meeting him there, but because he felt it would 
be repugnant to him to hear his old friend speak of his brother 
as a stranger. But when March came, the old man sent word to 
Frederic that he should be quite offended if he did not come to 
see him; and to avoid remark the young man repaired thither 
one afternoon. The old forester received him with reproaches on 
account of his long absence, and Frederic, unable to tell the real 
reason, made such excuses as he could. But though they found 
their visitor silent and somewhat absent, the forester and his 
wife and daughter did not let the conversation flag. There was 
much to ask and to tell ; whether Frederic was intending to stay 
at Gubstedt or not, and whether it was true that the base coin 
which was now largely in circulation was made in that part of 
the country. The police were said to be making investigation 
as to the source whence the false gold pieces which had been taken 
in Arensen and in Prussia were issued. Before Frederic could 
confirm the report the forester’s daughter, for whom the issue of 
false coin had no interest, broke in with the remark that the 
young lady from Wiesen who was at Gubstedt last summer was 
engaged, or at any rate on the eve of engaging herself, to a young 
doctor. While imparting this piece of information she fixed her 
eyes on the visitor, whose voice and manner, however, remained 


FREDERICS DISCOVERY. 


93 


unchanged, as he observed that the report could hardly be true, 
or Miss Schmitt ler would have informed her friend, Mrs. Wall- 
muth, of the auspicious event. 

Miss Ellring was surprised at the serenity with which her 
studied thrust had been received; then her father interposed 
with the inquiry whether Frederic had made acquaintance with 
the new assistant whom he had engaged that winter. The young 
man was prepared for the question, and answered that he had 
encountered the newcomer a few times in the forest. Did he 
give Ellring satisfaction? he asked. The forester replied that he 
had no fault to find with him, he understood his business, was 
a capital shot, and was always about. A gay young dog, however, 
he declared him to be ; never at home of an evening, every Sunday 
at Arensen or some other town, where he played the fine gentle- 
man. Where he got his money from he did not know; he was 
tolerably out of elbows when he came, and his pay now was not 
much. The forester’s wife and daughter defended him stoutly; 
he had, they said, attracted the notice of the Duke at the last 
hunting-party by his fine appearance and skill as a marksman. 
The daughter grew quite sentimental in her praise of his musical 
talent. Her father remarked that he was a handsome fellow, 
just the sort to find favor with ladies, and concluded by telling 
Frederic that he thought he was something like him in person. 

When the sun had set Frederic started on his homeward way. 
In spite of the warm March sun there was little sign of spring in 
the wood; the trees were still bare, and only in sheltered places 
were groups of snowdrops and primroses to be seen. Frederic’s 
heart was heavy as he walked through the forest ; spring brought 
no hope for him ; his future was vague and uncertain ; there was 
little prospect that his plans would be realized. 

He did not credit the report of Marie’s engagement for a 


u 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


moment; he knew her too well to believe that she would so soon 
change her mind. He felt sure, moreover, that the good priest 
would have acquainted him with any change in the household at 
Wiesen; yet he felt the separation from her keenly and longed to 
send her some love token. His way led by the path that took to 
the beacon; in that sheltered spot he would surely find one or 
two early blossoms that he could send her with the words, From 
the Beacon”; she would understand the message. It would 
speak to her heart, and recall the day when they were together. 

Just as Frederic was about to put aside the bushes and step 
out on the clearing he heard voices, and recognized his brother’s. 
Not wishing to meet him, he was going to retreat, when he heard a 
low laugh which he knew to be J enny’s. What did the girl want 
there, and with his brother? Contrary as it was to his nature 
and habit to act the eavesdropper, he thought he had a right to 
know what had brought them there. 

They were seated at the foot of the post in the most familiar 
manner. Will had his arm round the girl, who, her head resting 
on her hand, was looking up at him confidentially and listening 
attentively to him. Frederic’s first feeling was one of indigna- 
tion; he pitied the thoughtless girl who unwittingly played with 
fire. But the first words he heard convinced him that Jenny 
was not the innocent child he thought her, and that this was by 
no means the first time the two had met clandestinely. Scales 
seemed to fall from his eyes. It was now plain to him how it 
was that he had so often encountered his brother close by there, 
and why J enny was so assiduous in her visits to the mill. He re- 
membered the carnations which both had worn on the day of the 
harvest home. Now it was no longer a mystery where all the 
presents, of which the giddy girl boasted, had come from. 

For the moment they seemed to have more important business 


FREDERIC'S DISCOTERY. 


95 


on hand than mere philandering, for Will was counting out some 
money, pieces of gold, which he gave her. She jingled the coins 
together as they lay in her lap. Frederic did not catch what his 
brother said, but it must have been some rebuke, for she pouted, 
and saying it would not be so great a loss,^’ wrapped up the 
money and put it in her pocket. Will remarked that the loss of 
the money would not be the worst to be feared. Then he asked if 
his stern brother had not discovered anything — she must be a 
clever little witch to throw dust in his eyes. Was he still as 
jealous as he had been at the harvest festival? At any rate for 
once he was grateful to him, as he sent that dissolute lad to the 
right about. 

Jenny laughed, but quickly growing grave, she said she could 
have got rid of that young fool herself ; Mr. Frederic was stern, 
it was true, but he was kind and just; no one, she thought, ever 
meant as well by her as he did. She wondered what he would say 
if he knew all. 

Will looked down at her with a strange, searching glance. 

Try it on him,” he said. Would you like to be the steward's 
wife, hey ? Perhaps you would fare better than by following the 
fortunes of a poor minstrel. But the virtuous steward knows 
how to feather his own nest. He cares more for a sweetheart who 
owns a bag of money than for a pair of pretty eyes. Try what 
you can do with him,” he concluded scornfully, withdrawing his 
arm from her waist, and making as if he would rise and depart. 

The girl clung to him, her countenance glowing with excite- 
ment; he purposely misunderstood her, she said; he knew she 
loved him, and would do whatever he wished; she only carried 
on with the apprentice to deceive Frederic ; if she had not acted 
so cleverly all would have been found out. 

The young man laughed : You have been so clever, have you, 


96 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


sweetheart? You might say we; the counterfeiters would have 
got into fine trouble if I had not come. The hunchback was in 
a devil of a fright when he thought his bits of paper had got into 
the hands of an honest man at Arensen. My father was a fool 
to think such bungling work could deceive any one. Now I defy 
any man to distinguish between the true and the false. Yes, 
my pretty maid, it was a lucky day I met you here, and you be- 
witched me with your bright eyes. The old beacon has brought 
us good fortune ! 

A cloud came over Jenny’s face as she replied that matters 
could not go on as they now were. If the Wallmuths found out that 
she did not really go to the mill there would be a fine blow up. 
He assured her that when they had got a little more money they 
would cross the Atlantic and have a fine time in America, where 
no inquiries would be made respecting their antecedents. Before 
that, she stipulated, he must make her his wife, and to her great 
delight, he brought out a ring which he put on her finger in token 
of betrothal. She flung her arms round his neck in a rapturous 
embrace, and danced with joy. Now I am really engaged,” she 
exclaimed, and can snap my fingers at the other maids who look 
askance at me.” 

But Will looked grave, and warned her that not a word must 
be said on the subject, or all the feminine tongues would be set 
wagging. She urged that if she said she was betrothed to Ellring’s 
assistant, no harm would come, and their meetings need no longer 
be secret. 

But Will feared lest this should lead to his recognition, and 
declared that if she said a word on the subject she should never 
see him again. 

Jenny was dismayed. Why had he given her the ring if she 
was not to wear it, she asked, pulling it ofi her finger. 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


97 


" Hang it round your neck on a ribbon/^ her lover suggested, 
or put it by until we can tell our tale to all the world. At 
present you would only get laughed at. So not a word must be 
said. But look, silly child,” he continued, have taken care 
that you should have something that you can wear openly,” and 
taking a little box from his pocket, he exhibited to her ecstatic 
gaze a gold brooch and earrings, mere tinsel, but which to the 
ignorant girBs eyes were like the treasures of the Orient. She 
sprang up with a cry of delight to seize the glittering trinkets. 
Will put his hand on her mouth to stifle the cry. Take care 
w'hat you are about. It is a good thing that this place is so se- 
cluded, and no one passes by, or we might get into trouble. You 
are out of all bounds to-day.” 

Enchanted with his gift, Jenny was all submission. 

May I really wear this ? ” she asked. Who shall I say gave 
it me?” 

Say the old woman at the mill gave it you,” he rejoined, 
carelessly. Perhaps you will not be believed, but that does not 
matter. It is nothing new for a pretty girl to have presents, and 
she is not bound to say from whom. How it is time for you to 
go home. To-night we meet on ’Change. The peasants want to 
sell what they have left of their winter stores, and those who buy 
are short of money, so they borrow of us. My old father is sur- 
prised to And how much this transaction brings in since I have 
had a hand in it. At midnight they all are to meet here. I give 
the signal by playing a tune on my horn. Miss Ellring will think 
that most touching, and I shall get a better cup of coffee next 
morning as my reward. Keep out of the old man’s way, child. 
He must not know that you are concerned in the business. How 
good-by. You are not afraid to go alone through the wood in 
the dusk? Mind, silence is goldeh!” 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY, 


The girl gave him a passionate embrace; his unexpected 
munificence had won her silly heart. Then she ran off down the 
path that led to the homeward road. 

Will Wilthelm stood still for a few minutes, listening to her 
steps as they died away in the distance. What a lot of trouble 
these women give me,” he muttered. must keep the other 

girl in good humor, so as to get properly boarded while I stay in 
this lonely nest.” So saying he walked off, whistling a tune, 
well contented with himself. 

Frederic, meanwhile, leaning against the trunk of a giant elm, 
pale and motionless, suffered what appeared to him the tortures 
of hell. He had not caught all that passed between his brother 
and Jenny, for their voices often sank to a whisper, but he had 
overheard enough to prove that there was more than a mere flirta- 
tion; dishonesty, crime, disgraceful cheating, making money at 
the expense of the unsuspecting and ignorant. And his brother 
boasted of these vile transactions; nay, what was worse, his own 
father soiled his hands with the same dishonest proceedings. 

Frederic’s filial love revolted against the acceptance of this 
latter fact, yet his father’s name had twice, nay thrice, passed his 
brother’s lips. The remembrance forced itself upon him that of 
late his father had seemed in no want of money, and had been 
heard to boast that he knew ways of earning more than others 
did. But his mother — was she a participator in these criminal 
proceedings? No; that he could not, would not believe. 

How long he lay prostrate on the damp moss Frederic hardly 
knew. He was roused by the sound of a horn, the signal of which 
his brother had spoken. He sprang up, his first impulse being 
to fly from a spot where such unholy traffic was carried on; then 
again he thought it might be better to obtain certainty, to kno^v 
the worst before acting on his knowledge. He sought and found 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


99 


a suitable post of observation, and ere long, silent and ghost-like, 
seven or eight persons made their appearance, carefully disguised ; 
among whom he recognized the hunchback and the old miller’s 
wife. Then a tall figure came on the scene, whose upright bearing 
Frederic knew only too well. He had heard aright. His father 
was one of the principal of these evildoers. Much the same went 
on as at the meeting described in the opening of our tale, only 
this time not only gold coins, but crisp bank notes passed from 
hand to hand. 

The figures disappeared with the same specter-like silence as 
they had come. Frederic had not seen his brother in the assembly, 
but he was not far off, acting as sentry on patrol, so he said when, 
after the others had gone, he joined his father. He was apparently 
in excellent spirits. It is a thriving business,” he remarked, on 
seeing how large a sum fell to his share. You must acknowl- 
edge, father, that the bank notes I manufacture beat your gold 
pieces out and out.” 

Do not go on too fast,” the old man replied, or we may 
come to grief.” 

He went on to speak of Frederic, whom he had not found at 
Gubstedt, where he had been that afternoon, and wondered where 
he had gone after leaving Ellring’s house. x\gain he enjoined 
prudence on his son, begging him not to let his mother have an 
inkling of their goings on. 

It would be her death,” he said in conclusion. Hot that 
it is any great sin—one must get a living somehow, but I would 
rather die than have it known, even by my wife. One can throw 
dust in her eyes, but there is a limit. So be on your guard.” 

The two then went their way. Frederic remained for some 
time longer at his point of outlook, trying to compose his thoughts, 
to determine how to act. His father’s words had at least relieved 
. L.ofC. 


100 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


his mind of one load : his mother was innocent of any part in this. 
But he must put an end to their illicit proceedings, and how was 
this to be done? He stared mechanically at the rugged post 
before him, a fatal beacon truly for him, the haunt of evil 
spirits! Presently Will returned, and took the footpath, whist- 
ling as he went. He had just passed the beacon when a hand 
was laid on his shoulder, and his brother’s pale, haggard counte- 
nance presented itself before him. 

Unconsciously Will retreated a step. It is you, is it ? What 
are you doing here ? ” he asked, with assumed indifference. 

‘‘1 have been here since dusk, and have seen all,” was the 
grave reply. A look of terror came over Will’s face. He raised 
his gun to his shoulder and pointed it at Frederic. So you 
have played the spy ? ” he hissed. 

If I were a spy, I should not face you now,” Frederic re- 
plied. Be quiet, and listen to me. I give you six weeks’ time 
in which to leave this place. And as to the girl whom you have 
caught in your net, you shall keep your- word to her, though I 
know you do not intend to. I will send you a sum of money — 
honestly earned — sufficient to take you and her to a distance. 
After six weeks I will no longer pledge myself to keep silence 
as to what I have discovered. God knows whether I am right 
in concealing it so long. Warn your accomplices if you like, 
but beyond the appointed time do not disgrace an honest man’s 
house with your presence, for the girl shall no longer remain at 
Gubstedt, or nocturnal meetings be held at the beacon. Do 
as I say and I will keep my word. On the receipt of your mar- 
riage certificate I will send you the money; it is for you to de- 
termine where it is to be paid.” 

Having delivered this ultimatum, and before his brother 
could answer, Frederic walked slowly and fearlessly away down 


FREDERICKS DISCOVERY. 


101 


the footpath. In impotent rage Will took aim at the departing 
figure, but he lowered his gun the next moment. Worthless as 
he was he was incapable of cowardly murder. If I shot him 
down it would be thought poachers had done it,^^ he said, but 
better let it be. Six weeks is a good long time. The brute was 
jealous, so he slunk after us — women always get one into trouble,” 
he added, appeased somewhat by attributing a mean motive to 
his brother’s conduct. 

When Jenny got home she was severely rated by her mistress 
for remaining out so long. When Mrs. Wallmuth scolded, she 
did not spare the culprit, and she was all the more irritated be- 
cause Frederic, who had been absent at the time of his father’s 
visit, did not make his appearance at supper. The apprentice 
was on the watch for Frederic’s late return ; he also noted that on 
the following day Jenny had a pair of beautiful new earrings. 


103 


SOME OF THE CHARACTERS DISAPPEAR. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SOME OF THE CHARACTERS DISAPPEAR. 

Frederic Wilthelm kept his room almost entirely for the 
next few days on the plea of a severe cold. Mr. Wallmnth, on 
going to him^ thought him looking so ill that he begged him to 
have medical advice, or to go for a few days to his parents’ house. 
Frederic rejected these offers almost irritably, and although he 
did his utmost to appear calm, every one could see that he had 
something on his mind that greatly troubled him. The young 
man who occupied the adjoining room heard him restlessly pacing 
up and down at night, an unusual thing for one habitually so 
sedate and tranquil. A few days later Wilthelm asked his em- 
ployer for leave of absence, in order, he said, to come to a decision 
on a very important subject, adding that he was thinking of 
giving up his present situation. Wallmuth expressed his great 
regret at losing his services, and warned him against taking a 
rash step. He asked him what led him to this decision. Frederic 
replied that he felt he must be independent, but when Wallmuth 
went on to inquire whether he had given up all hope of winning 
Marie Schmittler, he showed so plainly that these questions w^ero 
most painful to him that his friend did not interrogate him 
further; he concluded that something had happened which 
weighed heavily on the young man. When paying him his salary 
the farmer remarked that of late more than once he had had bad 
money given him, and the prevalence of bad notes was mentioned 


SOME OF THE CHARACTERS DISAPPEAR. 


103 


as a warning in the local papers ; but, as Frederic made no reply, 
he concluded that he had not noticed the remark. His leave of ab- 
sence was to begin on the following day. 

On taking leave of Mr. and Mrs. Wallmuth, Wilthelm showed 
more emotion than the occasion required. AsJie rode away from 
the farm Jenny stood at the gate with the children. At first 
Frederic was going to pass her by without a greeting, but he 
changed his mind, and stopped his horse close to her. The few 
grave words he said to her before putting spurs to his horse ap- 
parently made a great impression on the girl; she turned pale, 
her pert manner changed, and for a day or two she was hardly 
like herself. Mr. Wallmuth told his wife not to put up with any 
annoyance from the giddy thing, and to look sharp after her, as 
her visits to the mill were certainly not for the sake of her aged 
relative. 

One surprise followed another for the owners of Gubstedt at 
this time. Shortly after Frederic’s departure a trustworthy mes- 
senger brought back the horse he had borrowed, with a letter to 
the effect that upon consultation with his friend he had decided 
to take the situation offered him in the south of Eussia, and in 
consequence of the long delay, it was imperative that he should 
proceed to St. Petersburg immediately. Hence it was impossible 
for him to return to Gubstedt. He begged his friends to excuse 
his sudden departure, and to keep a place in their hearts for him. 
There was no allusion to Marie Schmittler in the letter, and Wall- 
muth concluded that disappointed hope had led to his steward’s 
hasty flight. 

Not long after another event occurred to astonish and perplex 
the household at Gubstedt. One evening Jenny was found to 
have disappeared. She had been seen on the way to the mill 
with a basket on her arm. As she did not return the next morn- 


104 


SOME OF THE CHARACTERS DISAPPEAR. 


ing, Mrs. Wallmuth sent thither to inquire after her. She had not 
been there, the old woman said. Wallmuth’s three-year-old 
youngster said that when he was out with Jenny a strange man 
had met them and given her a letter, whereupon she had taken 
the boy home, kissed him, and told him not to forget her. That 
certainly looked more like deliberate leave taking than fortuitous 
absence. All the girl’s possessions, with the exception of the 
trinkets, were found in her room; on the table lay a note, most 
ignorant and misspelled, begging for forgiveness, and alleging 
that she was obliged to depart secretly, and it would be useless 
to search for her. She expressed her thanks for the kindness 
shown her, and hoped that they would not think ill of her. 

This letter did not throw much light on the subject; it only 
showed, as it had been written three days before, that Jenny’s 
departure was premeditated. Only the apprentice, whose troubled 
countenance showed that he was hard hit, pretended to under- 
stand the mystery. That there was a lover in the question he 
had no doubt, and it was none of the young fellows about there — 
the girl thought herself quite above them. Besides, all the pres- 
ents she had were no poor man’s gift, and every one must have 
noticed that since the steward left she had not been like herself. 
That prudent gentleman knew how to avoid a scandal. 

Mr. Wallmuth took Wilthelm’s part and rated the apprentice 
soundly, but the latter shrugged his shoulders 'and reminded his 
master of the harvest festival, and several other occasions on 
which Mr. Wallmuth had seen the influence Wilthelm had over 
Jenny, and how on that Sunday when he had been out all night 
she had been absent also. Though Wallmuth bade him be silent, 
yet he had said enough to rouse a suspicion in his hearer’s mind. 
Both master and mistress sincerely liked and esteemed Frederic, 
yet there were many singular coincidences which, when one 


SOME OF THE CHARACTERS DISAPPEAR. 


106 


thought of them, pointed to a connection of some kind between 
him and Jenny. The conclusion they came to was that he had 
gone olf suddenly, wishing to break off with her, and she had fol- 
lowed him contrary to his desire. 

The farm apprentice did not confine himself to giving his 
opinion in the narrow circle at Gubstedt. He was well off and 
independent, and wanted to marry the girl, and he felt himself 
basely defrauded. Everywhere he represented Wilthelm^s con- 
duct in the most hateful light, declaring that he played a double 
game with his rich fiancee and the poor maid servant. 

The young man had of late made acquaintance with Henry 
Law, the forester’s assistant, whose free and easy manner and 
unscrupulous conduct delighted him. They often met in the 
tavern at Arensen, where the host made such good customers 
welcome. One evening Jenny’s fiight was the topic discussed, 
and the innkeeper asserted that he believed Wilthelm to be a 
worthy and excellent young man, though too abstemious to please 
him, and he did not think he had any entanglement with the girl. 

But,” he concluded, one never knows how to trust those quiet 
folk. The Wilthelms have a bad name in these parts.” 

Henry Law sat silent, contrary to his custom, while this con- 
versation went on. When they left the inn he told his companion 
that he was going away for a short time. He wanted to visit his 
relatives in Bremen, and look out for a better situation. 

Whether Henry Law, alias Will Wilthelm, really went to 
Bremen must remain an open question. At all events he went 
away, for he knew that his brother, whether in Eussia or where- 
ever else he might be, would keep his word when the appointed 
term was at an end, and the time had then almost run out. 


106 


THE PROPOSAL. 


CHAPTEK X. 

THE PROPOSAL. 

The determination to which Frederic had come was the result 
of many a hard fought mental conflict. The struggle between 
his filial reverence and his sense of justice was painful in the 
extreme. Ought he to wink at crime for the sake of sparing his 
relatives? Yet how could he be instrumental in bringing dishonor 
on his father’s gray hairs, in besmirching the name he himself 
bore? These were questions difficult to decide. Sleep forsook 
his eyes, cold sweat broke out on his forehead, a fever burned in 
his veins. He had not exaggerated when he told his brother life 
was not worth living under such circumstances; at times he felt 
the burden of shame too heavy to be borne. A spotless reputa- 
tion had always seemed to him the highest earthly good ; the least 
shade of dishonor a thing not to be endured. 

Xor was this his only conflict. When he thought of his be- 
loved Marie, it seemed to him that he was in duty bound to give 
her up. How could he offer her a name that was sullied and dis- 
graced? How could he endeavor to overcome the opposition of 
her parents, knowing as he did that their opposition was well 
founded ? 

Well was it for him, in those stormy days, that faith and piety 
were firmly rooted in his breast. Christian principle came to 
his aid, peace returned ; he would do what he judged right, and 
leave the result to Providence. If God required of him the sacri- 


THE PROPOSAL. 


107 


fice of his good name, well, it was not the worst thing that could 
happen. At any rate, he had stopped the criminal transactions 
for a time; at present nothing more could be done. One thing 
was certain: he must not remain where he was, and it was for- 
tunate that on account of the difficulty of meeting with a suitable 
man, the post in Kussia was not filled up. The farther he went 
the better in his present state of mind. 

At first he thought he would set at nought all prohibitions, 
and pay a parting visit at Wiesen, to mitigate the bitterness of 
the long separation by a word of farewell. But he felt that with 
this dark secret on his mind, he could not look Marie in the face. 
He had recourse, therefore, to the priest^s mediation. He told 
him that he had accepted the situation in a distant land, and 
since it was impossible to explain his motives, he must beg him, 
and Marie also, to trust his assertion that he could not act 
otherwise. He ventured to hope that Marie would remain faith- 
ful to him, yet he would not bind her to keep her promise, but 
give her back her word; his love had only brought grief and 
trouble upon her. If, however, she was willing to bear the separa- 
tion for his sake, the knowledge of this would be the greatest 
solace he could have. He ended by begging the priest to let him 
hear from him occasionally. 

Though Marie had no suspicion of the trouble that had be- 
fallen her lover, she felt miserable and restless, longing for some 
word of greeting, some message from him. The long winter was 
over, and in the spring, when a young man^s fancy lightly turns 
to thoughts of love,” it seemed to her that something must happen 
to break the monotonous calm of her existence. She often stood 
looking across the pastor’s garden into the far distance, thinking, 
hoping she might see some one coming down the road. 

One day when she stood there, for a moment she imagined 


108 


TBE PROPOSAL. 


her dream was realized. She descried a young man, tall and 
active, approaching with a rapid step. But no; it was not the 
one for whom her heart longed — it was Dr. Fenthal, who, Marie 
could not but acknowledge, looked remarkably well. He seemed 
delighted to see Marie in the garden, and after bowing politely, 
he sprang over the hedge, excusing the liberty he took by alleging 
that he was pressed for time. 

However, he showed no haste when once by Marie’s side; he 
paced up and down with her, and soon left her in no doubt as 
to the object of his visit. He did not conceal from himself the 
fact that he was above Marie in rank, or that he was a great 
favorite; yet Marie’s thoughtful manner had an irresistible 
charm for him, and he made her a formal offer. 

Marie must have listened to the doctor less attentively than 
usual, or else the first word of love carried her thoughts back so 
forcibly to another bright morning in the past, when the same 
sweet word was breathed in her ear, that she failed to understand 
his meaning ; at any rate, she stared at him as if stupefied when 
he ceased speaking. Taking her silence for assent, he stooped 
down fondly, to read her answer in her eyes, or take it from 
her lips. 

Marie started back in horror when she realized the situation; 
she felt she ought not to have let the young man go so far. In 
vain she sought for an answer; she could only say that she had 
never imagined he would do her such an honor. 

Never imagined it ! ” he rejoined, by no means pleased at 
the manner in which his offer was received. Is it possible that 
you have not remarked how all this time I have done everything 
to show my love for you, and to win yours for myself ? ” 

Marie felt bewildered. She had been so absorbed in her own 
affairs that she had not thought of the doctor as a possible suitor. 


THE PROPOSAL. 


109 


She said as much, adding that she was not a fit consort for a man 
of culture and education — ^he would only regret his choice later 
on were he to marry her. 

The doctor’s countenance clouded; it was obvious that had 
Marie had a spark of affection for him she would not have urged 
such unselfish considerations. He was prepared to hear that her 
father’s whims might prove an obstacle, but not that he had 
made no impression on the girl’s heart. He felt hurt and 
offended. 

What engrossed your thoughts to such an extent ? ” he 
asked, bitterly, '^that you could not see my deep affection for 
you, or pay any heed to my courtship? You often showed an 
interest in me that encouraged me to hope.” 

Marie looked up at him in distress. am indeed sorry,” 
she said, if I am to blame. I liked hearing you talk — ^that was 
it really. You conversed so agreeably about many subjects of 
which no one else ever said a word to me. Forgive me. It was 
very viTong of me ! ” In shame and sorrow she hung her head. 

So you only cared for my conversation ! ” he retorted, petu- 
lantly, yet half inclined to smile at her naive admission, which 
after all, in a certain measure, soothed his wounded vanity. 

Perhaps,” he added, after a pause, you will at least tell me 
whether the ground of your refusal is that I have not had the 
good fortune to please you, or whether some one else has been 
beforehand with me in gaining your heart ? ” 

At last he had guessed the truth, and expressed what Marie 
felt; her heart was given away; no one else could gain it. She 
glanced up quickly at her companion, as they paced the garden 
walk, her cheeks fiushed crimson, a single tear rolled slowly down, 
and like a guilty child, she almost imperceptibly nodded her 
head. 


110 


THE PROPOSAL. 


The young man grew white to the lips. So there is one fair 
dream the less for me ! he said, with the readiness of tongue 
which had fascinated Marie, and which never failed him. At 
least he had the consolation of knowing that he had attempted 
an impossibility. So the reports about Marie Schmittler’s pre- 
vious attachment were true! The doctor stood still and bowed, 
in order to put an end to an interview painful for both. 

^^You will still be our friend,’^ Marie timidly entreated, a 
poor consolation, generally given in such cases. ^^And pray do 
not say a word to my parents about what has passed between 
us — not a word — it would get me into such trouble.’’ Her eyes 
sought his, endeavoring for the first time to exercise the influence 
she had with him, for she thought with terror of the fresh hin- 
drance in the way of her union with Frederic this new turn of 
affairs would occasion. 

Fenthal read the fear and sorrow in the piteous look turned 
upon him, and determined to be generous. He assured her that 
she could reckon upon his silence, and he would try to appear 
indifferent to her. Then, without touching the hand she held 
out to him, with a distant bow, he left her, passing out through 
the house as usual, and pausing in the hall to exchange a few 
words with Mrs. Schmittler as if nothing had happened. 

Marie had less self-control. The manner in which the doctor 
took leave of her awoke in her a full consciousness of how much 
she had been to blame, and for nothing in the world would she 
let her parents see her agitation. She returned to her seat in 
the garden and took herself to task for her conduct. Had she 
really given the doctor too much encouragement? Would he be 
unhappy through her fault? She hoped, she thought not. A 
certain feeling of pride at one so much above her paying his 
addresses to her she could not restrain, and she was thinking what 


THE PROPOSAL. 


Ill 


Frederic would say if he heard of it, when her reflections were 
interrupted by the harsh voice of the priest’s housekeeper, who 
from the next garden called to her, saying her master wished 
to see her. 

Marie sprang up at qnce to obey the summons, knowing that 
His Eeverence would not have sent for her at so unwonted a 
time had he not had something important to say to her. A few 
moments later she was seated on the small sofa in the presbytery 
with Frederic’s letter in her hands. The good old man gave it 
to her with scarcely a word; he then left her alone to read it, 
for he knew what young hearts were. 

Marie pressed the letter to her lips before reading it. When 
she had mastered the contents the color left her cheeks. It was 
very different to what she had expected. Although all was rep- 
resented in as favorable a light as possible, and warm, heartfelt 
affection breathed in every word, she could not disguise from 
herself the fact that an immense separation had taken place, that 
she was not only parted from her lover by wide tracts of land, 
but that a long space of time must elapse before she could hope 
to see him again. Even now, while she was reading the letter, 
he was already far away, in a strange land, where her thoughts 
could scarce follow him, and not one word of farewell had been 
exchanged between them. Surely he might have made the effort 
to see her once more before his departure! 

The hot tears ran down Marie’s cheeks, but she was a brave 
girl, and she read the letter again, in which it was said how keenly 
he felt the separation, and how circumstances forced it upon 
him. As for taking back the troth she had plighted, far be it 
from her to do so; what were two or three years, if at the end! 
they were united? 

The good priest was afraid he would find his young friend 


112 


THE PROPOSAL. 


dissolved in tears, wringing her hands in distress and despair; 
but when he reentered the room he found her quite capable of 
taking a sensible view of the matter. Frederic knew what he 
was doing better than she did ; she could only hope all would turn 
out well in the end. As for altering her resolution, that was 
out of the question. One wish she ventured to express: might 
she not under the circumstances make an exception, and for once 
answer Frederic’s letter with her own hand? Only a few words, 
she said, just to assure him that she entered into his plans and 
that her affections and her intention were unchanged. She would 
do nothing underhand; she would tell her father, and though he 
would be angry, it would show him that her determination was 
the same as ever. 

The priest shook his head; he would not consent to that, but 
he willingly agreed to tell her parents how satisfactory was all 
that he had heard about Frederic, and he promised himself to 
write to the young man and give him Marie’s message. But she 
could not be consoled at not being allowed to write a farewell 
greeting with her own hand, now that so long a separation was 
before them, and feeling that her tears could no longer be re- 
strained, she returned home. When she was gone the worthy 
pastor wondered in his own mind, as he sat smoking his pipe, why 
parents should cause such grief to a child they idolized. Such 
was the perversity of the human heart that not even parental af- 
fection was free from egoism and self-will. For himself he took 
the part of the lovers completely; he admired Marie’s strong, 
faithful love, and Frederic’s conduct bespoke a firm character and 
good principle. 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


113 


CHAPTEE XI. 

GRAVE TRIALS. 

When Marie Schmittler had formulated at the beginning of 
the day the wish that something would occur to change the aspect 
of affairs, that a breeze would spring up to break the still surface 
of the ocean in which the vessel of her affections was becalmed, 
she did not anticipate the storms which were about to arise. The 
day had begun with agitation and excitement, and before the 
forenoon was ended her heart was filled to overflowing with the 
varied emotions that had been awakened within it. She felt she 
could not keep it all to herself, and recollecting that the priest 
advised her to confide in her mother, she sought an opportunity 
of speaking to her, little as mother and daughter were accus-' 
tomed to mutual outpourings. But Marie felt the need of a 
mother’s counsel and a mother’s sympathy, and to-day it seemed 
easy to be alone with her, as her father had gone to the horse 
fair at Arensen. It was, however, not easy to gain her ear, for 
the good housewife was always so busily employed in house and 
garden, in kitchen and storeroom, that she never had a free 
moment. 

And when Marie began, with a quaver in her voice, to speak 
of her love, and the suffering of which love is the fuel, she did 
not find a very willing listener. Mrs. Schmittler had noticed how 
long the doctor lingered in the garden with Marie, and her quick 
eye told her that it was not his fault if the thing she hoped for 


114 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


did not come to pass. So she spoke harshly to her daughter, 
accusing her of disobedience, since her father had once for all 
forbidden her to think any more of Wilthelm. When she was 
a girl, she said, children had to do what their parents desired; 
Marie had been too much petted, so now she could not submit. 
Then, alleging want of time, she left the room, afraid that the 
sight of her daughter’s tears would melt her. She had perhaps 
in her annoyance appeared less kind than she really was, for in 
her heart she felt for the girl, and was much vexed with her 
husband for not consenting to the marriage. Marie did not sus- 
pect this, and was hurt by her mother’s coldness. Her parents 
should see that whatever they forbade, they could not prevent 
her from loving Frederic, and she would let her father know 
that. 

Schmittler returned home sooner than he was expected. From 
the way in which he flung his cap down upon the table on enter- 
ing Marie perceived that something unusual had occurred; 
whether it was unpleasant she could not tell, for his countenance 
did not betray its nature. Marie noticed that he regarded her 
from time to time with a peculiar expression, and seemed about 
to speak to her ; it was plain that he had something on his mind. 
Finally he sat down, and called for a mug of beer to fortify him 
for what he had to say. 

Presently he remarked that it was well to have intercourse 
occasionally with other people. One heard many things that other- 
wise one never got to know. Old Kellermann, the innkeeper, 
knew everything that went on for miles round. He carried on a 
good business, too, now that young men were so lavish with their 
money ; he could give him notes for all the gold he took in selling 
his horses. Ellring’s assistant and a young man from Gubstedt 
brought him a lot of custom, but those jolly, noisy fellows were 


&RATE TRIALS. 


115 


not half so bad as the sneaks, who pretended to be so honorable 
and carried on in secret. There was a queer story about, he 
went on to say with solemn emphasis, concerning the former 
steward at Gubstedt, who was supposed to be such a model of 
virtue. He had gone^^if by night without saying a word to any 
one, and no one knew why or wherefore. A few days after one 
of the maids, whom Frederic had recommended, also disappeared 
from the farm, whether with or without the steward's knowledge 
no one could tell. A very pretty girl she was said to be, turning 
every man’s head, but no better than she should be. The steward 
could not bear any one else to look at her; at the same time he 
had been boasting lately that he was engaged to a rich heiress 
who refused all other suitors for his sake, and of whose property 
he was sure. Hang me ! ” the old man suddenly exclaimed, 
banging his mug on the table, I wish I could break every bone 
in his body, the braggart, the swaggering, worthless fool! Did 
I not say all along what those people were? Now, girl, you may 
thank your father, who knew what he was about when he shut 
the door against him.” 

At the first mention of Frederic’s name Marie dropped her 
work and turned deadly pale. She could not utter a word, but 
as her father proceeded with his narration, she regained her 
composure to some extent. When he had finished, he took her 
silence for conviction, and added more kindly, "" Do not take it 
too much to heart, my girl.” 

Marie stood up and indignantly denied the truth of the 
whole story. She told her father that Wilthelm had accepted 
a situation in Kussia in order the sooner to gain independence, 
and prove that he did not covet any man’s wealth or lands. She 
would have said more but the old man stopped her, declaring 
vehemently that what she denied had been known as gospel truth 


116 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


to every fool in the place for months past. Nor did he assert 
facts of which he was not certain; he had himself seen the man 
with the girl when there was that affair in the tent at Arensen. 
Everybody knew how he had assignations with her at the mill. 
Whenever the one asked for a holiday the other did the same. 
The apprentice at Gnbstedt heard him pacing up and down at 
night like one possessed. Then all of a sudden he took himseK 
off. After he was gone the girl was beside herself; a few days 
later she went after him. As for the situation in Eussia, that 
was all rubbish, he would have taken it last autumn if he had 
wanted it. Wallmuth had said he would have given half his 
property rather than this should have happened. To exchange 
vows with a girl who trusted him and then behave so ! Faugh ! 
The old man almost choked in his rage. Now you see what 
it is to pin your faith to a Wilthelm. Even you can hardly 
justify him now 1 he added after a moment’s pause. 

I can make nothing out of all this story/’ Marie rejoined. 

Frederic may have enemies who misrepresent everything to his 
disadvantage. All I know is that he is not a liar and a deceiver. 
You can read the letter he sent to His Keverence; everything is 
accounted for quite naturally.” 

A letter ! ” the old man shrieked. He sends you letters 
that he may still boast of his rich fiancee? Have you so far for- 
gotten all rules of decency and morality, girl? I know how to 
be master in my own house. You still trust him, do you? If 
you do not believe me, ask your friend Madam Wallmuth, who 
protested so loudly at first. Never again shall his name be men- 
tioned before me, or else — ” The old man brought his fist down 
violently on the table. 

" Come away, Marie,” said her mother, who had gone in and 
out uneasily, and wished to put an end to the scene. Come away 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


117 


and go upstairs. It is no use to contradict and oppose a man/’ 
she added, as she opened the door of her daughter’s room. 

Marie sank down jipon a chair and covered her face with her 
hands. Her mother stood by — she would have given everything 
if only Marie had thrown her arms round her neck and cried 
herself out on her breast. In the morning her daughter would 
have been thankful to do so, now it did not occur to her. Mrs. 
Schmittler did not know what to say to console her, so she was 
silent. At last she told Marie her father would be in a better 
mood on the morrow, and asked if she would have some supper. 

Do not think that I grieve for what father said of Frederic,” 
Marie said, uncovering her face. I know it is not true. Only 
his angry words frightened me. I will not believe it, whatever 
you do to separate us,” she concluded, almost fiercely, bursting 
into tears. 

Young people are fain to believe what they wish to be true,” 
Mrs. Schmittler rejoined. Her words sounded cold, but in reality 
the sight of her daughter’s sorrow cut her to the heart. She could 
not bear to see her weep, and left the room. 

It was a relief to Marie to be alone with her own thoughts. 
Yet in silence and solitude voices made themselves heard, whis- 
pers of doubt which could not be hushed. Had she not seen for 
herself, at their first meeting, that Frederic was taken with the 
girl? She had felt jealous of her even then, and many a time later 
on there had been much in his conduct which she could not ex- 
plain. It was by his wish^ too, that the girl was taken as a servant 
at Gubstedt! The hot blood seemed to rush to her head; she 
could hardly draw her breath. Ho ; it is not true, it can not be 
true,” she exclaimed, and hastened to the window, that the cool 
night breeze might fan her burning cheeks and banish the phan- 
tom that tormented her. Ho doubt, she said to herself, Frederic’s 


118 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


actions had been misrepresented and distorted by malicious 
tongues ; would that he were there to defend himself against those 
shameless accusations. Did he suspect all that she had to endure 
for his sake on the very first day his absence was known ? 

Gradually she grew more calm ; after she had commended her 
grief and woe, and more especially the future of her beloved 
Frederic to the good providence of God, she sought her couch and 
fell peacefully asleep. Nevertheless when she woke the next 
morning her pillow was wet with her tears, for in her dreams she 
had seen Frederic’s father, as she saw him in the tavern. Joking 
with the barmaid, only this time the barmaid had Jenny’s features. 

That was only a dream. She told herself she had no cause 
for tears; whether Frederic was far or near, his thoughts would 
be with her, and that knowledge gave her solace and strength. 
She would not go about with a sad face ; if she did that her father 
would think she believed what he had said. If only he would not 
begin again about it! 

Marie need not have had any fear that the subject which was 
so painful to her would again be brought up. The sight of her 
child’s distress stirred Mrs. Schmittler to the depths of her nature, 
and for once loosed her tongue. If you want to be the death 
of our poor child, go on as you did this evening,” she said on re- 
entering her husband’s presence. What business had you to 
break her heart with all the stuff and nonsense people have poured 
into your ears? Wilthelm is far away — ^isn’t that enough? If 
Marie does not want to marry, well, we have enough. She 
is our only child. It is enough to kill any one, to go at one in 
that way.” 

Schmittler scarcely believed his ears, when his wife, usually 
so submissive and silent, for the first time since her marriage 
spoke up in this way. He had no opportunity of retorting, as 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


119 


she instantly left the room; he was, besides, too much taken by 
surprise to find words wherewith to answer her. In fact, he was 
fairly frightened, and felt relieved the next morning when Marie 
came down and set about her work as usual, only looking some- 
what paler than was her wont. No further allusion was made 
to what had occurred that evening; for a few days Schmittler 
rather avoided being alone with his daughter, or talking much 
to her. Her mother^s manner was kinder to her than before. 
Marie now knew that years of waiting were before her, and this 
consciousness was less disquieting than uncertainty. She de- 
termined to bear the trial of separation with as much equanimity 
as possible, and often repaired to the village church, there to seek 
courage and patience from the source of all true succor and 
solace. 

Another vexation was in store for her, one that did more to 
shake her confidence and create uneasiness in her mind than the 
recent contention in her family. Mrs. Wallmuth had become 
firmly convinced of the guilt of her favorite Frederic, and since 
she did nothing by halves, was now as unsparing in her condemna- 
tion of him as she was formerly eloquent in his defense. Anxious 
to testify her pity for and sympathy with Marie, she arranged to 
meet the ^'poor, sadly-deceived girl,” as she termed her, at the 
village inn at Wiesen, for she did not wish to go to the house. 
To her surprise Marie resented and indignantly repelled her 
expressions of compassion, and bitterly reproached her friend 
for her credulity. She had, however, nothing substantial where- 
with to controvert the circumstantial evidence that told so 
forcibly against her lover, or convince Mrs. Wallmuth of his up- 
rightness and fidelity. The interview was anything but satis- 
factory on either side; Marie, conscious that her friend was better 
acquainted with the ways of the world than she was, felt that a 


120 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


chilling breath of distrust had swept over her confidence in man- 
kind in general, and resolved, despite Mrs. Wallmuth's pressing 
invitation, not to go to Gubstedt again until Frederic’s conduct 
was plainly justified. 

Not very long after, a commotion was caused in the whole 
district by the intelligence that, in consequence of the large num- 
ber of counterfeit notes in circulation, the attention of the munici- 
pal authorities had been attracted, and a body of police having 
been concealed at night in the wood surrounding the beacon, the 
band had been arrested at their nocturnal meeting. The ring- 
leaders were, however, not apprehended; they had probably been 
warned betimes that proceedings were to be taken against them. 

From the confession of their confederates it was found that 
the little hunchbacked man had for years been engaged in this 
disgraceful business, and the aged owner of the mill had lent 
her lonely dwelling for the manufacture of false notes and base 
coin. Will Wilthelm had acted with great acuteness, only in- 
timating to the hunchback and his father that discovery was to 
be feared, without mentioning from what quarter the information 
would come, and leaving the other accomplices in their fancied 
security. Old Wilthelm was not alarmed; he was known under 
an alias, and always attended the meetings in disguise. Yet the 
description of his person given by a peasant to whom he had lent 
a sum of bad money at the beacon led to his identification, and he, 
too, was ultimately arrested. For Mrs. Wilthelm this was a ter- 
rible blow, which laid her on a sick bed. She trembled, moreover, 
for her son Will, not knowing that he was already far away, and 
that his identity with Henry Law was not suspected. 

Old Schmittler concealed the fact that the notes he had brought 
back from the horsemarket at Arensen were all forged, since he 
could better bear the loss of a few hundred thalers than let it be 


GRAVE TRIALS. 


121 


known that his boasted smartness had been at fault. He followed 
the course of the trial with malicious delight^ and read out the 
long accounts in the local papers for his wife^s edification. Hap- 
pily, Marie was not present. She had been compelled to revoke her 
decision not to visit Gubstedt again, for in August a little daugh- 
ter had been born to the Wallmuths, and the mother’s life was al- 
most despaired of. Mr. Wallmuth had begged Marie to come to 
his help so earnestly that she could not refuse, and her parents 
were willing to part with her, as they thought the change might 
prove a beneficial distraction for her. She was so occupied both in 
the household and in the sick room as to leave her little time for 
reflection. 


m 


AT THE BEACON^ 


CHAPTER XIL 

AT THE BEACON. 

Will, and Jenny (who was known to have had base coin in her 
possession) fared better, at least at first, than the other delin- 
quents. The alarm with which Frederick’s words on parting in- 
spired the girl was more than compensated for by a letter from 
Will, urging her to leave the farm at once as treachery was at 
work. He gave her minute directions as to her flight, and told 
her he would go with her to another part of the country and keep 
his promise to marry her if she would now obey his orders implic- 
itly. The idea of soon attaining the goal of her desires so de- 
lighted the giddy girl that she thought of nothing else. She re- 
solved to leave a letter to excuse her sudden and surreptitious de- 
parture, and would fain have boasted of her distinguished fiance 
had she dared. The first night she slept at the mill unknown to 
its proprietress ; the next day Will conducted her over byways to a 
village across the frontier, where she could remain until he could 
give up his situation. 

From the apprentice at Gubstedt Will heard that Frederic was 
considered to have instigated J enny’s flight, and he was not sorry 
to find that the blow his brother dealt him had rebounded on 
himself. On leaving Ellring’s service Will rejoined Jenny and 
went with her to a town in the south of Germany, where he got em- 
ployment in the orchestra of a theater for the summer season. He 
had made enough money dishonestly to support himself and her for 


AT THE BEACON, 


123 


a time, and he now resumed his real name, as he was aware that 
Henry Law would be wanted by the police. Before long, he 
married J enny. This he would probably not have done, though he 
had taken a great fancy to the pretty girl, had he not feared the 
consequences of breaking his promise, both in as far as his brother 
was concerned and because he did not know what the girl’s pas- 
sionate temperament might lead her to do when she found her- 
self deceived. As it was, the silly thing was in the height of 
felicity ; the idle life, the fine dress, the admiration her beauty at- 
tracted, made her happy beyond all her hopes, and she acted her 
part uncommonly well for one brought up as she had been. Her 
musical talent, too, came to the fore. Will let her take singing 
lessons in the hope that her voice might be a means of support later 
on, and insignificant parts on the stage were given her, of which 
she acquitted herself very creditably. 

But this state of things was not to last long. The account of 
the trial of the forgers was in all the papers, and the name of 
Wilthelm got known as that of one implicated in the affair. Will 
felt he was no longer safe in Germany and must go elsewhere. 

Immediately after his marriage he had acquainted his brother 
with it, and Frederic had kept his word. He let his brother know 
that he had lodged a sufiScient sum with a banker in a seaport 
to enable him to emigrate. He could draw this money out to pay 
his passage. Besides this a considerable sum had been placed to 
his credit in New York, so that he might not on arriving in a 
strange country be without means. Any further communication 
Frederic declined, for he thought by this pecuniary sacrifice to get 
rid of the two. Although the sum was a most liberal one Will 
grumbled at the provisions his brother had made, as he wanted to 
dispose of the money as he chose, and at least postpone the voyage 
to America. Meanwhile, the birth of a child had disturbed the 


124 


A.T THE BEACON, 


domestic peace of the young people, and the ungovernable passions 
of the wife occasioned violent scenes. Finally a means was found 
of adjusting their differences. 

The clearing in the forest where the beacon stood, which came 
into notoriety through the apprehension of the forgers, was 
afterwards more lonely and deserted than ever. Yet one day in 
November a man and a woman, whom one would have little ex- 
pected to see there, stood beneath the ancient post. They did not 
appear to have revisited the spot in order to revive the tender asso- 
ciations it had for them. On the contrary, as they sat together on 
the mound, the man’s countenance wore a cross, sullen expression, 
while the woman looked with a scarcely less gloomy gaze at the 
sleeping child which lay on her knees. Both husband and wife 
had greatly altered since they were last seen there. The former 
had his hair and beard trimmed quite differently, while modern 
and fashionable life had altered the former peasant girl almost 
beyond recognition. Her figure was more slight and her face 
somewhat thinner, but her features showed the same saucy, de- 
fiant expression. The two had driven up about an hour before, 
and sent the carriage on with their luggage to the nearest rail- 
way station. 

The man’s patience seemed at an end; he sprang to his feet 
and declared a decision must be come to. 

You know,” he said, I can loiter here no longer. I stopped 
to please you because you said you could make up your mind — 
now you seem as far off as ever.” 

I see no reason to leave the child here,” the woman replied 
in a morose manner, not even looking up at her husband. Its 
rightful place is with its parents.” 

^^That is what I told you,” the man rejoined coldly; "you 
ought to stay where you were with the child, and let me go to. 


AT THE BEACON. 


125 


America first and send yonr passage money later on. What can 
we do over there with the child tied round our necks? Not to 
mention the trouble it would be on the voyage, it would be an 
intolerable burden over there. Without it we could make our 
way, you with your good looks and fine voice, I as a musician. The 
Americans love something new. We shall get on famously, and 
you shall dress in silk and satin to your heart’s content. So de- 
cide. Either you stay behind with the infant or you must leave 
it here. It would be easy to find some one to take charge of it.” 

To ill-treat and starve it ! ” she shrieked. That is what 
you wish, you unnatural father! I can not kill it or throw it 
away to please you ! ” J enny retorted, bursting into tears, and 
thereby rousing the sleeping infant. Will took no heed of her 
vehemence, but reseated himself on the bank. He looked at the 
child — it was a fine boy, about three months old, strongly re- 
sembling his father, though he had his mother’s dark eyes. He 
could not help acknowledging, as the mother held it up, that 
even at so tender an age it bore the distinctive features of the 
Wilthelm family. 

But even maternal pride and affection could not induce J enny 
to renounce the prospect of a gay and brilliant career on the 
other side of the Atlantic, for a solitary life of toil and probable 
privation in a village in her native land. Further discussion 
ensued between the parents; suddenly Jenny suggested that the 
boy should be left with Will’s mother, she would take it for his 
sake. But Will replied that since his father’s arrest his mother 
had been laid on a sick bed. ^^Yet,” he added after a pause, 
since you persisted in coming here, you might just as well have 
it left with the Wallmuths. Only make up your mind soon, or I 
must go without you. I do not want to be seen by the cursed 
peasants about here,” 


126 


AT THE BEACON. 


I thought of the Wallmuths/^ Jenny replied, but I heard 
last night that for several months she had been dangerously ill. 
Besides she would not forgive me for running away. There is 
only one person to whom I could trust him,^’ she added in a 
whisper, one who would be good to him for God’s sake, Marie 
Sehmittler — your brother’s sweetheart, you know — she was 
always kind to me, she is never unkind to any one. Who knows,” 
she continued, not heeding the sneer on her husband’s face, if 
she would not love the little fellow all the more for his likeness 
to the Wilthelms ? We need not take him to Wiesen — Schmittler’s 
daughter is at Gubstedt keeping house during the mistress’ illness. 
But what can I do ? I can not bring myself to go to Gubstedt ! ” 
she ended, sobbing aloud. 

^^That is not necessary,” her husband replied; ^^she can 
come here and fetch it. Write her a note, or I will do it for you, 
and beg her for God’s sake to come here about a matter of im- 
portance in the forenoon to-morrow. I will put it in the post 
at Dreesen and she will get it by the first delivery. Take my word 
for it she will come. We can spend the night in the shelter by the 
mill, and return here betimes to-morrow. We will wait about 
till we see what becomes of the child. Marie Sehmittler will be 
too much astonished to beat the bushes in search of us; if the 
idea did occur to her we should be already far away.” 

Jenny still hesitated: how, she asked, if they wanted to claim 
their child later on could they prove it to be theirs? 

Her husband overrode all difficulties ; there was no more room 
for hesitation, he said ; the matter was settled. He tore a leaf out 
of a pocket-book, and wrote a letter in pencil, purposely dis- 
guising his handwriting. When finished he offered it to his wife 
to read: She took it, but tortured by conflicting feelings, she 
could not decipher it for her tears. She flung the paper from her. 


AT THE BEACON. 


127 


Will coolly picked up the paper, smoothed and folded it, ob- 
serving as he did so that the traces of two tears which had fallen 
on it would speak most eloquently in its behalf, and after ad- 
dressing the letter, he went off without another word to put it in 
the nearest letter box. Then for the first time Jenny realized 
what she had done. The die was now cast. With a piercing cry 
she hastened after her husband, but the thorns caught her dress 
and she could make no progress. With a sigh she returned to 
the infant that lay crying on the grass and would not be quieted. 
Again a revulsion of feeling told her that unless she did as her 
husband wished he would leave her alone, and she must bid fare- 
well to the alluring prospects the future offered. He is right, 
we can not take it with us,” she murmured, as, heated and weary, 
she seated herself beneath the beacon. “ Hundreds do the same ; 
if we get on and make our fortune out there, we will send for 
him.” 

Meanwhile Will, striding rapidly down the path, was thinking 
how much misfortune had befallen him through frequenting the 
spot where the fatal beacon stood. 


128 


MARIKS UNHAPPINESS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MARIE^S UNHAPPINESS. 

Jenny^s information was correct : Marie Schmittler was still 
at Gubstedt, as Mrs. Wallmnth^s recovery was slow. The letters 
she received were few and far between; she had recently heard 
from her parents, and was therefore not a little astonished on 
receiving an epistle the following morning, one, too, of so un- 
usual a description, evidently written in a feigned hand, ap- 
parently a begging letter. As she deciphered the half-obliterated 
characters, inscribed in pencil, an increasing feeling of uneasiness 
took possession of her. It was the petition of an unhappy in- 
dividual, requesting her to repair to the beacon at an early hour 
of the same day, intimating that she alone could render the de- 
sired assistance, since the matter in question concerned her to a 
certain extent, and concluding with an urgent entreaty that she 
would not fail to come, and thus rescue the writer of the letter 
from despair. The traces of tears, as Will had surmised, were 
more persuasive than the contents of the letter. 

Marie had not been taught by bitter experience to suspect 
deceit and imposture everywhere, yet on calm reflection, it oc- 
curred to her that some one might be trading on her generosity. 
Still it might be the cry of one in great distress, of one nearly 
driven to desperation. Although she was asked to observe secrecy 
as to the communication, Marie would not take upon herself the 
responsibility of decision without asking advice. Mr. Wallmuth 


MARIW^ VmAPPIlSlESS. 


129 


was away from home, so she determined to take Mrs-. Wallmuth, 
although she was still weak and ill, into her counsels. 

She expected that her friend would raise all manner of ob- 
jections, but she took the letter seriously, and read it several 
times. The sentence stating that Marie’s destiny was involved 
struck her most, and finding that the girl could throw no light 
on its meaning, she concluded that the Wilthelms must be in 
some way connected with the affair. She informed Marie, who 
was in ignorance of the misfortune that had come on the family 
in consequence of the arrest of the counterfeiters, that the father 
had been imprisoned, and his wife and two young daughters re- 
duced to destitution. She thought perhaps the appeal came from 
them, and warned Marie against having anything to do with 
them. 

This intelligence grieved Marie deeply; she knew how keen 
was Frederic’s sense of honor, and concluded that the threatened 
disgrace of his father had driven him into exile. Of this she said 
nothing to her friend, for she saw how low the whole family 
stood in her esteem. She no longer hesitated whether she should 
comply with the request conveyed in the letter; Mrs. Wallmuth 
did not oppose her, she only stipulated that the old farm servant 
who would drive her to the beacon should remain within hearing 
lest assistance should be needed. 

The day was still and warm for November, and the drive 
through the woods agreeable and refreshing. As she drove along 
Marie generously resolved that whatever shame attached to 
Frederic’s name through his relatives’ wrongdoing, whatever the 
world said of him, nothing should alter her love. 

As they drew near to the beacon a certain timid apprehension 
took possession of her, and before alighting she made the servant 
look about the spot to see if any one was there. No one was 


130 


MARIKS UKHAPPIKESS. 


within sight, so she bade the man remain at a short distance, 
within call, while she proceeded to the open space where she ex- 
pected to descry the nnhappy writer of the letter. All was, how- 
ever, as silent and deserted as ever. 

While Marie waited, thinking every moment that some one 
would come upon the scene, the recollection of her first visit to 
that spot, in the early rapture of happy love, came vividly before 
her. She remembered that even in that blissful moment the 
weird, uncanny relic of bygone days had exercised upon her a 
chilling infiuence ; and might not the cruel turn affairs had taken 
be due to the baneful spell connected with it? How long each 
moment seemed while she waited in excited suspense! She was 
about to seat herself upon the mound when she perceived a bundle 
lying at the foot of the fatal beacon, wrapped in a red shawl. 
Then the suppliant had been there? Surely she would soon re- 
turn. Unable to sit still, Marie rose; as she did so a movement 
in the bundle attracted her attention, and the wail of an infant 
was plainly audible. Startled and astonished she went up to it. 
A strip of paper, with the words : Have pity on me ! inscribed 
in large letters, met her eye. She unfastened the shawl with 
a trembling hand, and saw a baby just awake. On its chest an- 
other paper was fastened, with the name, Frederic,” and the 
words, Forgive, and have compassion on him ! An unfortunate 
woman thus prays.” 

Marie, agitated and strung up to a pitch of expectancy, 
dropped on her knees beside the child, who, now fully awake, 
stared at her with his large, grave eyes, and broke into a pleased 
smile. As if stung by an adder she started back and threw the 
end of the shawl over the child. Whose were those features? 
The features of one whom she could never forget, features in- 
delibly impressed on her memory. The likeness was too striking; 


MARIE^S UNHAPPINE88. 


131 


even the curly hair — but then the dark eyes ! Again she took up 
the paper and read the name; with a groan she sank to the 
ground, crying aloud, My God, my God, what does this mean ! ” 
Only a short time ago she had felt so proud, so confident in her 
love, ready to challenge the whole world, resolute to repel every 
accusation, every insinuation that could shake her faith in him — 
but now? 

The sky was as blue, the sunshine as cheerful as on the day 
when Marie there listened for the first time to words of love and 
vows of fidelity. All around a solemn silence reigned, only 
broken by her sobs. She lay there, incapable of calm refiection, 
conscious alone of a blow that overthrew all that she held most 
sacred, most dear. Could this be but a fresh instance of what 
Mrs. Wallmuth said occurred so frequently, of which the world 
thought nothing? A shudder passed over her, bitterness and dis- 
gust filled her soul. With unutterable repulsion Marie regarded 
the child, who now cried lustily, and by its struggles to free itself 
from the shawl was in danger of falling off the mound where it 
had been placed. Marie was forced to take it up and attempt to 
quiet it, and as she did so the question presented itself. What was 
to be done with it? She could not wait any longer — she could 
not leave it there ; she must take it away with her. The servant’s 
voice was heard calling her, and she laid the child down quickly. 

The man had grown uneasy at her long absence, and feared 
lest some mishap had befallen her. He was surprised to find her 
alone, but his astonishment was doubled when she showed him 
the child, and said that it was for its sake she had been summoned 
to the spot. 

In his rough country dialect the man expressed great indigna- 
tion at the parents who had had recourse to this means of get- 
ting rid of an inconvenient infant. Such a detestable trick, such 


132 


MARIWS UNHAPPINESS. 


audacity he had never heard of ! No use waiting any longer, those 
to whom it belonged were far away by that time. A fine boy it 
was, too ! 

He took up the bundle and carried it to the wagonette. Be- 
fore starting he asked if he was to drive to Arensen, and in answer 
to Marie’s look of inquiry added that the local board would 
provide for it. 

Marie’s horror lest publicity should be given to the affair 
caused her to negative the proposal almost passionately. No, 
no,” she cried, I found the child, and I will undertake to pro- 
vide for it.” 

As you please,” the man rejoined stolidly, touching his horse 
with the whip. Presently, while Marie was engaged in vain 
endeavors to quiet the child, he said, with a good-natured smile: 

The mistress will open her eyes wide when she sees the fine 
present that has been made you. And master will make a wry 
face, methinks, when he comes back.” 

Marie was struck with the truth of what the man said. She 
knew not what to answer. To expose the child to Mrs. Wallmuth’s 
keen scrutiny would be almost worse than to consign it to the 
municipal authorities, and endure their curious questioning. 
Happily the farm servant suggested an alternative. 

" A brat like that gives a world of trouble. If you do not like 
to take it to Gubstedt because of madam’s illness, my wife would 
take charge of it. We can easily go round to the village where 
my home is. All my children are out in service except the young- 
est, who helps her mother. She would keep it for a slight re- 
muneration.” 

Marie eagerly accepted the offer. This plan would remove 
all difficulties. The village was several miles from Gubstedt, 
and the man’s cottage stood alone. The woman was more than 


MARIE^S UNHAPPINESS. 


133 


willing to take the little foundling for the ample compensation 
promised her. She asked if it were baptized, and what was its 
name? Marie could not bring herself to mention the name that 
that was indicated on the paper ; she replied that a note had been 
fastened to the child^s frock to say that it was baptized and had 
received the name Henry. On giving the infant to the woman 
she could not restrain her tears at parting from what was to her at 
the outset an object of intense aversion. 

The first tears Marie shed over this strange episode in her 
story were the last. The deepest wounds bleed inwardly. Grief 
that finds outward expression is capable of external consolation, 
and craves for it. But she shrank from the thought of letting 
any one know the extent of her suffering. By the time she reached 
Gubstedt the fresh breeze had removed the traces of tears and 
cooled her burning temples ; also she had succeeded in regaining 
her composure, collecting her thoughts, and determining what 
to say in regard to the occurrences of the morning. The facts 
themselves could not be concealed or disguised, but one can often 
contrive to place facts in the light in which one desires others 
to view them. 

Mrs. Wallmuth awaited Marie^s return in great excitement; 
she was all eagerness to hear the explanation of the mysterious 
epistle. Marie related her adventure truthfully; she was able to 
speak calmly of the surprise prepared for her, the conjectures to 
which it would give rise, the entreaty inscribed on the paper, the 
repulsion she at first experienced, and the obligation she felt her- 
self under to comply with the petition. 

Mrs. Wallmuth had expected something so different that she 
could not speak strongly enough concerning the audacity of the 
deed. She could not conceive why Marie had been pitched upon. 
Marie repeated the reasons which the old farm servant had 


134 


MARlE^S UNHAPPINESS. 


thought probable, that she lived in the neighborhood and that 
advantage had been taken of her youth and compassionate char- 
acter. Mrs. Wallmuth wished that Marie had brought the found- 
ling to the farm to be submitted to her inspection before dis- 
posing of it so summarily, but she understood the motives that 
had actuated her. 

For some time the girl had a great deal to bear, as every one 
questioned her about the strange story when it got known. But 
the worst of all was that her idol was dethroned ; in the loneliness 
of her heart she felt as if all that was true and loyal, in which 
she believed, was gone at a stroke, and in the place of these fair 
flowers thistles and thorns had sprouted, the thistle of bitterness, 
the thorn of contempt for one’s fellow-men. She sought some- 
times to And excuses, to take a milder view of what seemed in- 
excusable, and with this object ventured one day to question Wall- 
muth as to the opinion he had of Frederic, and whether he con- 
sidered all that was said about him to be true. 

Had he been asked a short time before, Wallmuth would have 
defended his friend stanchly, yet now he was not prepared to 
enter the lists for him, and had recourse to an evasive reply. 
Frederic, he said, certainly seemed to him a man of unimpeachable 
honor and integrity, but of late there had been much in his con- 
duct that he could not understand. Wallmuth clothed his answer 
in many words, as one does when one wishes not to express one’s 
own ideas explicitly. 

But Marie was not satisfied. She went further ; she took upon 
her lips a name she thought never again to utter ; she asked what 
he knew about Jenny? 

Wallmuth was in despair. He recollected Frederic’s absent 
look, the strange, troubled manner in which he took leave of the 
girl. How could he tell Marie what he could not but surmise? 


MARIWS UNHAPPINESS. 


135 


He was not required to answer — his hesitation was enough. 
Marie divined his thoughts. You need not answer, I under- 
stand/’ she said calmly, but with a peculiar note in her voice. 

A cold shudder ran over her. The last ray of hope was ex- 
tinguished. The warmth with which her heart glowed seemed 
changed to ice. However, after a pause, she had sufficient self- 
control to ask whether anything had been heard of Jenny. 

Wallmuth answered, with evident reluctance, that Jenny was 
said to have been seen quite recently in one of the villages on the 
frontier of the duchy, very well dressed, and announcing that 
she was about to sail for America. She had a baby with her, over 
which she was shedding tears. Another account was that she was 
accompanied by a gentleman, who was also recognized at the rail- 
way station, but then they did not have the child with them. 

I Wallmuth told all this hurriedly, concluding with the remark 
.that one could get no certainty out of such reports, and one must 
^beware of condemning any one rashly. 

Marie did not appear to share the fear he expressed of unjust 
judgment. Wallmuth observed to his regret that her conclusions 
evidently coincided only too closely with his own. Nothing more 
passed between them; Marie laid her finger on her lips as if to 
implore his silence, and he was distressed to think that she also 
perceived what seemed to him obvious. He knew not what to say 
further and only pressed her hand kindly and sympathetically. 

The motive that principally induced Marie to enter upon so 
painful a conversation was this: Wallmuth, during his absence 
from home, had been taken into the confidence of the young 
farmer, who had long aspired to Marie’s hand, and who, although 
his solitary home sorely needed a mistress, was willing to wait 
for her, since his affection for her was deep and sincere, provided 
any hope could be held out to him. He begged Wallmuth to act 


130 


MARIE^B UNHAPPINESS, 


as his ambassador, to plead his cause with the girl he loved, and 
to obtain a definite answer to the formal offer of his hand. Wall- 
muth did not discourage the young man, for he imagined that 
after all that had occurred, the disgrace that had overtaken 
Frederic’s father, and the strange story about Jenny, all further 
thought of union with him must be out of the question. 

At the close of the conversation recorded above Wallmuth 
could not bring himself to revert to the subject which had 
occasioned it. But after a few moments’ deliberation, Marie 
calmly requested him to ask the young man to give up all thought 
of her, as she did not intend to marry, or to leave her parents. 

From that day forward her grief gave place to cold placidity, 
which she thought would be the attitude of her mind until the 
end of her days. Every day the load that weighed upon her 
seemed to grow heavier, crushing all the powers of her soul. Even 
her pity for the foundling seemed turned to stone; she had sent 
the necessary information concerning it to the police, stating her 
intention of providing for it, and considered that she had then 
done all that duty required of her. The old farm servant apprised 
her now and again of its welfare, saying his wife had grown quite 
fond of the pretty boy. Marie listened to his report with indif- 
ference, expressing no wish to see the child, or asking any ques- 
tions concerning it. 

Her sojourn at Gubstedt was now approaching its close. Mrs. 
Wallmuth was sufficiently recovered to resume the management 
of the household, and Marie’s parents urged her return home, 
as her mother was far from well. Before the end of November, 
therefore, she went back to Wiesen. 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN, 


137 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN. 

When^ on her way home, Marie came to the place where the 
road branched off, which led to the village where the old farm- 
servant lived, the idea occurred to her that she might make a 
slight detour and see after the well-being of the child; but her 
wounded feelings had so much power over her that she could not 
resolve to do so. How far distant the time seemed when she 
last passed that way ! Centuries might have elapsed since then. 
Would that she could silence the voice of memory ! As she 
passed close to the beacon, all that Frederic had said rose with 
cruel distinctness before her mind; she remembered how he kept 
turning round to chatter with her, how Mrs. Wallmuth had re- 
proved him, and how he had spoken of the heathen rites, the 
bloody sacrifices that were said to have taken place there in 
early ages. She averted her head that she might not see the 
ill-fated spot. Was that which had now happened less horrible 
than what was done in days of yore ? A man who trampled upon 
truth and fidelity, who ruthlessly broke a heart that clung to 
him — a mother who scrupled not to abandon her child — 

When her father took her away from Gubstedt she thought 
herself unhappy; now she knew what real misery was. The 
familiar surroundings called no smile to her countenance; the 
gloom that darkened her life seemed to rest on all she saw. She 
started on hearing a child scream as she drove through the village ; 
it reminded her of the infant that she would fain banish from her 


138 


MARIE TAKES VP A NEW BURDEN. 


thoughts. Even her parents’ affectionate welcome gave her no 
pleasure. She fancied that they rejoiced in having gained their 
own way, and she dreaded witnessing her father’s triumph when 
he found his predictions proved right. 

Outwardly her life went on in the accustomed routine, with this 
difference only, that her mother required more assistance from 
her than heretofore. She shrank from any communication with 
the priest, whom she only saw when he came to visit her mother, 
the illness of the latter affording her an excellent excuse for 
not going to the presbytery. She resolved not to tell him what 
had recently occurred. Why should she ? He had been mistaken, 
like herself. She had begged the Wallmuths not to let her parents 
know anything about the child. As they allowed her to spend 
as much money as she chose, there was no difficulty in paying 
the small sum required for his maintenance. 

Marie had been several weeks at home when the priest sent 
a message asking her to come to him. She felt no curiosity 
as to the cause of this summons. But she no longer experienced 
that mixture of dread and delight with which she formerly 
looked forward to hearing news of Frederie; on the contrary, 
she felt that an end must be put to the whole affair. The last 
remnant of honorable feeling had prompted him to release her 
from her engagement; she in her folly had not comprehended 
his meaning. What was to be done now? She was too proud 
to reproach him for his unfaithfulness; she had not, as is usual 
with betrothed maidens, an engagement ring, letters, gifts to 
return. 

The priest received her with his usual cordiality. He had 
heard from Mrs. Schmittler of the fresh trial that had befallen, 
the lovers. He had much to tell her, and was astonished at 
the apathy with which she regarded the letter with the foreign 


MARIE TAKE^ UP A NEW BURDEN. 


139 


stamps which he gave her to read. First of all, however, he 
asked her if she knew of the recent events in connection with 
the Wilthelm family, and on her replying in the affirmative, 
he told her the last news, that the father had died in prison, 
and thus escaped the reach of human justice. This, the pastor 
said, was the best thing that could have happened for the 
family ; nothing much had been proved against him, and in a few 
years all would he forgotten, as far as any shame attaching 
to the innocent and. upright members of the family was con- 
cerned. 

Marie understood his meaning. A little while ago she would 
have answered that her affection and her trust were strong enough 
to enable her gladly to share with Frederic the unmerited dis- 
grace in which he was involved. But now all was changed; her 
tongue was bound; Frederic was nothing to her; therefore what 
concerned him was a matter of indifference to her. 

The priest was surprised at the unmoved manner in which 
she received the intelligence he had to communicate, and the 
absence of all emotion wherewith she read the letter, although 
it was calculated to appeal to the feelings. Every word expressed 
the writer’s grief; he had done all he could to prevent that blow 
falling on his father, but since he had been unsuccessful, his 
first impulse was to release Marie from her engagement; to beg 
her to forget that she had ever plighted her troth to one who, 
through no fault of his own, was implicated in the guilt of 
others. Even, he added, if she were generous enough to over- 
look the cloud that rested upon him, he could not feel justified 
in availing himself of her generosity. 

Notwithstanding the abruptness with which Frederic ex- 
pressed himself, the good priest could read between the lines the 
deep grief felt by the writer. He saw that he knew hk father 


140 


MARIE TAKES VP A NEW BURDEN. 


to be guilty, and a sense of rectitude alone compelled him to 
act as he did toward Marie. Yet from what the old man had 
seen of Marie’s affection for her absent lover, he thought that 
she would least of all turn from him in the time of misfor- 
tune, or visit upon him the sins his father committed. To 
his great astonishment she laid down the letter as coldly 
as she had taken it up. For a moment she hesitated; then, in 
answer to the priest’s look of inquiry: 

^^It is better so,” she said. ^^My parents would never give 
their consent. He ” — she could not utter his name — is right in 
what he says; all is different now, and what is done can not be 
undone. It does not do to act contrary to one’s parents’ wishes.” 

The priest’s brow clouded. ^^His honor is intact; no one 
suspects him of complicity,” he said gravely. 

The hot blood suffused Marie’s cheeks; she shook her head, 
and repeated that it was best for both that the engagement should 
be broken off; 

The good pastor had expected a very different answer. He 
experienced a sense of disappointment. Was this the love that 
appeared so steadfast, so deeply rooted? It was not unnatural, 
for most people would shrink from assuming a name that had 
been disgraced, yet he felt sorry, as is the case when a person 
whom we thought capable of higher things sinks to an ordinary 
level. 

Marie requested him to answer Frederic in her name, as the 
letter was addressed to him. She spoke calmly and coldly; then 
she took her leave. After she was gone, while the old man sat 
smoking his pipe, his meditations were upon the instability and 
evanescent nature of human affections. 

Marie’s interview with the priest had not in any way altered 
her feelings. She could hardly say that the letter had augmented 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN, 


141 


the grief which weighed upon her heart. The thought crossed 
her mind that Frederic might perhaps divine the real motive 
that induced her to break off with him so curtly. But that was 
a matter of indifference to her, as indeed everything was now. 
She did not know how she got through the day. It was well for 
her that her mother’s failing health gave her more and more 
to do; in fact, the good woman, formerly so active a house- 
keeper, now was obliged to relegate almost all her domestic 
duties to her daughter, and scarcely left her easy-chair. 

The doctor’s visits were now more frequent than ever, but 
he no longer sat by Marie when she was at needlework, amusing 
her with entertaining conversation; it was for her mother that 
he came, and his kind manner and grave looks showed that he 
considered her case a serious one. Of Marie he saw very little, 
as she was always fully occupied. 

Now that Mrs. Schmittler was obliged to give up work, 
the enforced repose gave her leisure to think more about the 
future of her only child. She perceived plainly that Marie 
was not happy, although she never complained, or gave expres- 
sion to her secret sorrow. But her cheeks were less round, her 
eyes less bright; never did a merry word escape her lips, or her 
countenance relax into a joyous smile. Her mother would have 
given anything to alter her daughter’s evident resolve to bear 
all in silence; she knew not how to invite a confidence which 
all the girl’s lifetime she had never enjoyed. She wondered 
in her own mind whether Marie still clung to Wilthelm. “ She 
has her father’s resolution and my reticence,” the poor woman 
said with a sigh. God knows what would I not give to see my 
child happy, to see her settled in life, before — Many a 
sentence was ended with this vague before,” for despite the 
tranquilizing assurances of the doctor, despite the remedies he 


14S 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN. 


prescribed, the invalid felt that her days were numbered — that 
the end was coming. 

One day, when speaking to the good clergyman about Marie, 
she learned from him that the engagement was at an end, since 
Wilthelm, under existing circumstances, had thought right to 
release his betrothed from her word, and she herself had acqui- 
esced in the proposal. This affair about Frederic’s father must 
have made her change her mind,” he concluded. 

His hearer shook her head. She knew Marie too well to 
believe that the incident in question had caused her to alter 
her mind. If she had yielded, it was only to the pressure ex- 
ercised by her parents, the fear of her father’s anger. Perhaps 
she had only given up her lover in a moment of depression, 
and now regretted having done so, for one could see that grief 
still gnawed at her heart. The good woman could not bear the 
thought that her child bore her parents ill-will for having stood 
in the way of her happiness, and pondered what could be done 
to remove this feeling. Week after week went by, month suc- 
ceeded month. At length Mrs. Schmittler, convinced that her 
end was near, resolved to speak to her husband seriously on 
the subject. He had no suspicion of her illness terminating 
fatally; accustomed always to see her in robust health, strong 
and indefatigable, he persisted in regarding the malady that 
was eating her life away as a passing ailment. When, there- 
fore she summoned up courage — and heaven knows what an 
effort it cost her — and asked him to listen to her before it was 
too late, he scarcely understood her words. Had he not been 
startled and dismayed, he would not have listened in patience 
while she pleaded for her child, would not have tolerated the 
hated name being mentioned in his presence, much less would 
the promise have been wrung from him, that if he found that 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN. 


143 


the girFs heart still clung to her lover, he would not eventually 
refuse his consent and his blessing to their union. His wife 
declared to him that she could not die peacefully unless she 
was assured that her daughter’s will would no longer be thwarted. 
Now a load was taken from her mind, for she knew her husband 
would keep his promise, and she told all to the priest, that he 
might, if necessary, remind him of it when the time came for 
fulfilling it. She told Marie, too, what she had done; told her 
that the wish of her heart would be granted her, hoping to see 
the girl’s countenance beam with joy and satisfaction. Little 
did she suspect that she did but thrust another thorn into her 
daughter’s heart. Almost angrily Marie released herself from 
her mother’s embrace — she had not a word to answer. Only 
the grief on her mother’s face revealed to her the depth of that 
mother’s love, which could spend its last strength to procure 
her happiness. Repentantly she threw her arms round her 
neck, thanked her, and begged her to worry herself no more about 
the matter. The good woman now felt she could depart in peace ; 
and in fact ere long the place she had filled in the household for so 
many years was empty. 

No one felt her loss like Sehmittler; she had been a good wife 
to him; his comfort, his welfare, were the objects of her life. 
]\Iarie was an excellent housekeeper, but her father knew that 
her heart was elsewhere; that her thoughts were with one whom 
she would far rather have studied and served. If Marie had 
been cheerful and gay, if she had married, the household would 
have assumed a new character; new life and animation would 
have been imparted to it. As much as old Sehmittler formerly 
detested the idea of a son-in-law, he now longed for one. He 
expected Marie to claim the promise he made to her mother 
on her death-bed; of her persistent silence he could not divine 


144 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN, 


the reason; even an allusion to it on his part passed unheeded. 
Had she really resolved never to marry? Once he had told her 
she might keep to that determination; now he only wished 
she would depart from it. He brooded over this day and night 
till he grew melancholy; he lost all pride and satisfaction in 
his property, which after his death would fall into he knew not 
whose hands. His health gradually failed, and scarcely had 
Marie laid aside her mourning for her mother than she had to 
resume it for her father. She had imagined that after the 
anguish she had experienced in one hour of her life no grief 
would seem really great to her; but she was mistaken; just at 
the period when it would have been a consolation to her to feel 
that her parents needed her, when by their greater kindness 
they endeared themselves to her, they were taken from her. The 
friends who followed Schmittler to the grave little knew how 
much his orphaned daughter was to be pitied. She was of an 
age to stand alone, and the world has scant compassion for 
one who is left well-provided for, the heir to broad acres and 
wisely-invested capital. Conjecture was busy as to the fortunate 
individual on whom Marie’s hand would be bestowed. 

Marie declined Mrs. Wallmuth’s pressing invitation to go 
to her and entrust the care of the farm at Wiesen to Mr. Wall- 
muth’s steward. What was external loneliness in comparison 
to the interior void she experienced? She shrank from inter- 
course with others, and took an elderly relative to live with her, 
on whom by so doing she conferred a benefit. Bitterly Marie 
reflected that it was her position as heiress to a large property 
that had constituted her attraction in Frederic’s eyes, and keenly 
she felt how gladly she would give all she possessed could her 
trust in him be restored. What did the greater or less amount 
of the income the farm brought in matter to her now ? 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN. 


145 


Summer came round ^ again, and one Sunday afternoon 
unwonted quiet prevailed in the village of Wiesen. Almost all 
the inhabitants had betaken themselves to a neighboring village, 
where the feast of the saint to whom the church was dedicated 
was being kept. All Marie^s servants, and even her companion, 
had gone to share in the festivities. The young mistress of the 
farm sat alone in the deserted house. 

It was a beautiful day; the birds twittered cheerily in the 
old walnut trees, the sunbeams rested caressingly on Marie’s 
hair, the perfume of lilies and roses was wafted in through the 
open windows. But neither the song of birds, the bright sun- 
shine, nor the fragrance of flowers, which awaken such joyous 
feelings in the hearts of the young, had any power of this kind 
over Marie. She fancied that rest and solitude would be the 
best restoratives for her, but her own thoughts were not so 
agreeable that she could wish to be left to them. The present 
had no interest for her; the remembrance of the past she 
anxiously sought to banish — and the future? What was there 
to look forward to? Was her life, which already appeared long 
to her, destined to drag on day by day, year by year, in the same 
dull routine? The idea was intolerable; as if to escape from 
it Marie sauntered out into the garden, and stared idly .over the 
hedge. 

But that day the street was empty; even the priest’s garden 
was deserted, for his Eeverence had, like the majority of his 
parishioners, gone to the patronal feast. There .was nothing at 
all to divert her mind. Presently, however, a chaise that went 
rattling by made her look up ; the man who was driving it took off 
his hat to her in passing ; Marie returned the greeting. Both the 
chaise and its owner were familiar objects. In the latter she 
recognized her former suitor, who, soon after her final refusal 


146 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN. 


of his hand, had married the daughter of a neighboring farmer. 
His young wife sat beside him, and between them stood the 
offspring of their union, a sturdy boy on whom the parents gazed 
with pride and delight. A strange feeling came over Marie 
as she looked after the happy young couple. She knew the man 
to be upright and well-conducted ; his person was also prepossess- 
ing ; he had been faithful in his attachment to her until all hope 
was taken from him. She might have had the lot of that young 
wife, whose countenance beamed with happiness. For what had 
she rejected it? For a phantom, an illusion. Alas! she had 
resolved to think no more of Frederic, and yet she could not 
banish him from her memory. Why could she not forget one who 
had so quickly forgotten all his vows of love and fidelity? 

Since her last conversation with the priest about Frederic no 
more tidings of him had reached her. Her reverend friend had 
not sent for her, and Marie had not- been to see him. She knew he 
was displeased with her, and she could not resolve to tell him 
her secret woe. Why, she asked herself, should she alone suffer, 
why should she alone find none of the pleasure and happiness 
for which she yearned? Her heart seemed dead within her. 

The sight of a boy about five years old, who fell while endeav- 
oring to clamber into her neighbor’s garden, roused Marie from 
her dreams. The curly-headed youngster reminded her forcibly 
of the golden-haired infant whom she had adopted — it struck 
her that he must now be just the same age as the child before 
her. Since that memorable day when she found him at the foot 
of the beacon, she had never seen the boy. She now remembered 
having been told, about a year and a half ago, that the old 
woman who had charge of him was dead, anfi her daughter-in- 
law, who moved into the cottage after her death, was willing 
to keep the child provided the remuneration was increased, as he 


MARIE TAKES UP A NEW BURDEN. 


147 


had now passed the time of infancy. This occurred just at the 
time when Marie’s father engrossed her care and attention; she 
had therefore agreed to pay what was asked, and dismissed the 
subject from her thoughts. Now it appeared to her in a different 
light. She had voluntarily made herself responsible for the 
child’s well-being, yet she had taken no steps to ascertain whether 
he was being brought up properly, treated kindly, and guarded 
from evil influences. She could not conceal from herself the 
fact that hitherto she had sadly neglected a plain duty; she re- 
solved, whatever it cost her, to go and see after the child and 
satisfy herself as to his welfare. 


148 


BELF-SACRIFICE. 


CHAPTER XV. 

SELF-SACRIFICE. 

Before the sun reached its meridian on the following day 
Marie’s carriage stopped in front of the humble dwelling where 
more than four years before she had left the child. As she drove 
along she could not help feeling a certain anxiety as to the state 
in which she would find him, and what it might be incumbent on 
her to say and do. 

The cottage was shut up, and Marie’s servant, despite re- 
peated blows with his whip handle on the door, could not succeed 
in making any one hear ; so she ordered him to go and put up the 
horses in the village, while she remained there to await the return 
of the people of the house, who would doubtless come back from 
work at midday for their dinner. 

The villagers came straggling in, singly or in groups, from the 
scene of their labor, but of the inhabitants of the cottage before 
which Marie was seated none appeared. Presently an old woman 
came hobbling up from a house close by; she informed Marie 
that if she wanted the people who lived there she would have to 
wait till evening, as they were away reaping corn and would not 
return till the day was done. They need not work so hard, she 
said, as they were well paid for the little boy they had to keep, and 
not much good did he get out of it. The poor little fellow was 
left alone all day ill in bed; it was a pity no one looked after 
him. Then eyeing Marie curiously, she asked if she were perhaps 
the young lady who found the child at the beacon and who paid 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 


149 


for his keep. And seeing how shocked her hearer was to learn 
that the child had been ill for nearly a year and a half, and was 
left shut up in the house alone while the people were in the har- 
vest field, she said the lady had better convince herself of the 
truth of what she said; that she needed but to look in at the 
window for that. Marie acted on her suggestion; what she saw 
must have confirmed the old woman’s statement, for she came 
back white to the lips, with a horrified expression on her counte- 
nance. Meanwhile the old woman, having despatched a boy to 
summon the young owner of the house, promising him, in Marie’s 
name, a considerable gratuity if he carried the message quickly, 
withdrew to her own habitation, murmuring as she went some- 
thing about how heaven or hell might be gained by the way a 
poor little sickly loundling was treated. 

Marie hardly noticed her departure. She sat on the wooden 
bench in consternation, a prey to bitter self-reproach. What the 
aged crone had said about heaven and hell rang in her ears, but 
she did not apply it to the woman who had neglected the child— 
her own conscience spoke too loudly. 

Before long the young woman arrived, out of temper at being 
fetched away from her work, and afraid of being called to account 
for her treatment of her charge. Conscious how much she was 
to blame, she began immediately to justify herself, without being 
accused, in the most voluble manner. It was not her fault if the 
boy was crippled with fistula; she had plague enough with him, 
and all these years no one had inquired after him; he could not be 
kept as a gentleman for the pay she had, and so on. Finding her 
flow of words elicited neither reprimand nor retort, she pro- 
ceeded to open the door, followed by her visitor. The scene that 
the interior presented was sufficiently dirty and disgraceful to 
call for a fresh volley of excuses from the mistress of the house, 


150 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 


while Marie, going up to the bed whereon the little sufferer lay, 
was appalled at the sight that met her eyes. 

Could that really be the child whom, as a baby, she had held 
in her arms, plump and rosy, the picture of health? The ema- 
ciated features no longer presented the likeness which then struck 
her so forcibly; the fair curls were shorn; she saw before her 
an impersonification of misery. Wailing piteously, the unhappy 
child turned restlessly on his comfortless bed. 

Marie was about to take him up in her arms, but the child, 
unused to strangers, turned from her to the woman, who proudly 
remarked that his doing so proved her to have been kind to him. 
She continued to protest that his wretched appearance was the 
result of sickness, that his ill-health began in her mother-in- 
law’s lifetime, and was not her fault. She was going to write to 
the lady about him, but thought after all it was not worth while, 
as he was only a poor outcast for whom nobody cared. 

These last words contained the sharpest sting for poor Marie. 
She reproached herself too much to reproach another; besides, of 
what use was it now to upbraid the woman for her past negli- 
gence? Marie had already taken a fresh resolution. She was 
deeply grieved to find on examination that the little fellow had 
wounds in several parts of his body: two below the knee, of a 
very serious character, had caused contraction of the limb. She 
said little. Ordering the child to be dressed in his best clothes, 
she sent a messenger to order her carriage, and paid the full 
amount for the current quarter to the woman, who, perceiving 
her intention, overwhelmed herself anew with protestations and 
excuses. Marie silenced her with a look. The boy was lifted 
on to her lap in the carriage, and the order was given to drive 
straight to Arensen, in order that she might obtain the best 
surgical advice. 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 


151 


A fresh grief awaited her in the verdict of the physician that 
it was very doubtful whether the patient would ever recover the 
use of his limbs. Marie told him as briefly as possible the history 
of the child, and he did not conceal the admiration he felt for 
her when she informed him of her purpose to undertake its care 
herself. It would be a wearisome task, he said, as the little suf- 
ferer would require the most careful and constant nursing for 
years to come. Marie felt she could not do less to atone for her 
past indifference and neglect, owing to which he was condemned 
to so joyless an existence. 

Yet, when she alighted at her own door, it was with a happier, 
more contented feeling than she had experienced for a long while. 
For the first time since her parents^ death those around her saw 
her enter heartily into the work to which she put her hand, doing 
her utmost to relieve the child's sufferings. Here, as at Arensen, 
she gave the simple explanation that this was the boy she had 
found at the beacon, now the victim of the neglect of those to 
whom she had given him in charge. The condition of the child 
spoke for itself as to the treatment he had received; everywhere 
it evoked warm sympathy. 

Marie’s life now entered upon a new phase. As the doctor 
had said, it was no easy task which she had undertaken, and 
months, nay years passed before much change for the better was 
perceptible in the child’s condition. He had been neglected 
mentally no less than physically, and through his having been 
left so long alone, his intelligence seemed permanently blunted. 
Yet the unremitting attention and self-denying kindness with 
which Marie devoted herself to him day and night soon brought 
about improvement in that respect. But the greatest change was 
in Marie herself; she became as animated as she was formerly 
apathetic; her life no longer seemed to her aimless and useless, 


153 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 


there was something to live for; she never allowed herself to 
think whose Child it was. It was now her own, purchased at the 
price of poignant sorrow. 

Two friends rendered her valuable assistance in promoting 
the bodily and intellectual welfare of the boy. One was the 
young doctor, who was not sorry to have a reason for resuming his 
visits to the house ; the other was her old friend, the village pastor. 

Shortly after she brought the child to her home, Marie spent 
a long time one evening in the church. She knelt there where 
those kneel who seek relief for their burdened consciences who 
seek pardon for the past, counsel and help for the future. From 
that time Marie’s countenance wore a look of peace, contrasting 
forcibly with the cold indifference that was of late the habitual 
expression of her features. Though Frederic was never again 
mentioned between the priest and herself, she felt that she now 
stood in the same relation to her old friend as formerly; the 
estrangement that had kept them apart no longer existed. 

Dr. Fenthal was really attached to Marie, and the spark of 
hope that had never been entirely quenched began to burn up 
afresh now that his intercourse with her was renewed. Never 
did he think her so charming as now, and he felt almost envious 
of the little foundling on whom her tenderness and loving solici- 
tude were exclusively lavished. Still he might not have given 
expression to his wishes for some time longer had not circum- 
stances brought matters to a crisis. An extensive practise in a 
large town was offered him; the prospect of a brilliant career 
thus opened before him. Ambition and love struggled within 
him, and love conquered. This time he made his offer by letter. 
Marie was scarcely less surprised than when he spoke to her on 
a former occasion. She must have had a heart of stone not to 
be touched by the fact that after the lapse of years he should 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 


153 


again renew his suit. Was he not right, too, in saying that 
if a great grief had been her portion, she ought not to allow it to 
make her renounce all happiness, the happiness that love brings 
to woman’s heart, and condemn herself to a lonely, solitary life. 

This letter did not fail to exercise a certain influence over 
Marie; after all she had gone through, after having been so 
grievously deceived, how sweet fidelity appeared to her! Yet 
after all what were words? She had listened to words that 
sounded even more loving, more true than these, and they had 
proved false. While she was deliberating what course to pursue 
she heard the voice of the little sufferer calling to her. One of 
his wounds had reopened ; she felt, as his little arms were stretched 
out to her, that it was a warning to her not to take upon herself 
other duties ; his wailing tones reminded her of her resolve to do 
all she could to atone to him for the past. Singularly enough, 
that evening the child reminded her most forcibly of Frederic; 
his countenance wore the grave, almost melancholy expression 
she knew so well in her lover, as if appealing to her not to allow 
another to take the place his image still occupied in her heart. 

Dr. Fenthal accepted the post offered him at a distance, and 
soon after cards announcing his engagement to a young lady 
reached Wiesen. His departure was much regretted in the neigh- 
borhood, and busy tongues laid the blame of it on Marie. What- 
ever could induce her, it was said, to refuse so agreeable a young 
man, who had paid court to her for so long? Why did she reject 
all suitors? There must be some reason; it was a strange story 
about that foundling. Ere long it was more than whispered that 
the hoy stood in a nearer relation than was alleged to his adoptive 
mother. 

These reports did not reach Mrs. Wallmuth’s ears immediately. 
When they did she defended her friend with her wonted vehe- 


164 


SELF’SACRIFICE. 


mence, and made the officious repeater of the scandals retreat 
more hastily than she had come. But when she had poured forth 
the vials of her wrath on that unlucky individual, her anger 
turned upon Marie, who, by her foolish fuss with the child, had 
laid herself open to such calumnies. In the heat of her an- 
noyance she wrote to Marie, telling her plainly all and everything 
that was said of her in the most outspoken manner. 

Marie in her seclusion knew nothing of this scandal. It 
seemed to her so natural that she should adopt the boy that she 
never conceived that others would view it differently. She was 
sitting in her favorite place in the garden one afternoon, pleased 
to see how much the little invalid enjoyed the warm sunshine, 
when the letter was brought to her. 

At first she could not understand it. But when her friend’s 
meaning forced itself upon her, the hot blood suffused her cheeks, 
and she threw the letter aside with a gesture of disgust. Her 
whole being rose up against these foul accusations. Who had 
dared to spread them about her? How could her friend dare 
to repeat them to her? Unsparingly the letter set before her 
that by her own indiscretion she had brought them upon herself, 
that her own conduct in ignoring the child during her parents’ 
lifetime and then displaying such exaggerated solicitude and 
affection for him gave vraisemblance to the surmises of the ma- 
licious. Shocked, stunned, despairing, she covered her glowing, 
countenance with her hands. 

0 Frederic, Frederic ! ” She uttered the name with almost 
the same loving intonation as of old. What had not her love for 
him cost her! She invoked him as if he must hear her, must 
protect her from such vile insinuations. Had she not done every- 
thing to preserve his name from being besmirched — could he, 
would he do nothing for her ? 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 


155 


This first ebullition of grief and distress was soon over; she 
became more calm. Yes ; he had deprived her of one thing after 
another; the happiness of her life, her peace of mind, and now 
her good name ! Still she would hold her head high. Conscious 
of her own virtue, what did the gossip of a few venomous tongues 
matter to her ? If people would calumniate her, there was no help 
for it; to go on just the same without heeding it would be the 
best refutation of the slander. Her friend^s letter she committed 
forthwith to the fiames. 

Mrs. Wallmuth looked in vain for an answer; no whisper 
of how Marie had taken her plain-speaking reached her. At 
length she came to the conclusion that the letter had better 
never have been written. 


156 


THE END OF WILL WILTHELM, 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE END OF WILL WILTHELM. 

The man on whose name Marie had called when this last blow 
struck her had not the least inkling of what constituted the real 
barrier between him and Marie. He thought it his duty, after 
the appointed interval had elapsed, to apprise the authorities of 
certain facts which led to the arrest of the criminals. Had he 
not done so, he would have considered himself as accessory to 
their wrong-doing, and he thought he took precautions sufficient 
to avert disgrace from his father. In this he had not succeeded, 
and he himself was implicated in the dishonor of his family. 
It was the destruction of his hoped-for happiness, for to that he 
attributed the cold answer he received from Marie. He told 
himself over and over again that she was right in giving him up ; 
yet at the bottom of his heart he had counted on her generosity, 
and judging her by himself, he did not expect that she would 
turn from him because of another’s guilt. At any rate he hoped 
that if the separation must be final, she would send a word of 
consolation, an assurance that she, too, suffered in consequence 
of it. 

For some time he watched for the post with feverish anxiety, 
hoping that it might bring a few lines, a parting message from 
her, but the months passed by without word or sign on her part. 

The only alleviation to his grief, the only distraction from it 
lay in the wide sphere of activity which lay around him, the re- 
sponsible position in which he was placed calling for the exertion 


THE END OF WILL WILTHELM. 


157 


of all his powers. Alterations and improvements were needed 
all over the extensive estate he managed, and the obligation to 
apply his whole mind to the work before him formed the best 
tonic for his heart. 

The emolument he received was considerable. He would have 
been able to lay by a large sum had not his father’s death imposed 
fresh burdens upon him. The sum to enable his brother to emi- 
grate and settle in America had not been provided without an 
effort; now he found himself called on to support his mother 
and sisters, who, their property being greatly encumbered with 
debts, were, when all was sold, left penniless. What made this 
harder was that his mother cast on Frederic the blame of all her 
misfortunes; she accused him of compelling Will to disappear 
and bringing her to her present misery. 

He bore this change in his mother’s feelings toward him with 
patience and equanimity, only it seemed to alienate him more 
and more from his home. He lived alone and made few friends. 
Of his brother he heard nothing more, except a notification from 
the American bankers that the sum he had placed to Will’s 
credit was exhausted. But no word of thanks reached him, nor 
did he desire any further tidings; in fact, he would fain have 
effaced from his memory all recollection of his past intercourse 
with him. 

This, however, was no easy matter. Although Frederic was 
separated by so great a distance from his native land, though he 
was surrounded by new and unfamiliar scenes, the image of that 
clearing in the forest with the weather-beaten post in the center 
rose before his mental vision ever and anon, recalling all 
that he had gone through there. He fancied that he again saw 
his brother’s face with its flighty, frivolous look, that he heard 
the girl’s saucy laugh, and the boasting words in which Will 


158 


THE END OF WILL WILTHELM. 


compared his free and merry existence to Frederic’s serious con- 
ception of life. Had he the best of it after all? 

>ic >i« 4: 4: * 

At the time of which we are speaking the young married 
couple found themselves in circumstances by no means in keeping 
v,dth the prospect they conjured up for their future. 

In one of the quarters of an American city a crowd of persons 
was flocking toward a place of entertainment of no very high 
order. A concert was to be given, and as the inhabitants of that 
part of the city were to a great extent Germans, a performance 
of German music was announced in the program. The an- 
nouncement stated that a performer on the horn, or clarionet, 
would play some German airs, and his wife would sing some songs 
familiar to Teutonic ears. The horn, which recalled the forests 
and mountains of the Fatherland, always proved an attraction, 
and it was by no means badly played. The concert began well, 
but after a few airs it became apparent that the unhappy per- 
former had overrated his strength. A long pause ensued, and 
when he began again, he was interrupted by a short, dry cough; 
he could not draw breath freely in the vitiated air of the small 
and crowded room. The public became impatient, .ind remarks 
of an unflattering nature were freely uttered, when the wife, 
taking her husband’s instrument, blew a fanfare which silenced 
the grumblers and proceeded herself to play a few light, merry 
airs. The novelty of seeing a woman appearing as a performer 
on the horn prevented her hearers from criticizing her musical 
talent, and her good looks gave her a certain attraction, though 
the bloom was worn off her beauty. Exposure to sun and wind 
had spoiled her complexion; trouble and hard work had graven 
deep lines on her brow, yet her wealth of dark hair and her 
bright eyes, and a style about her dress which, for all her pov- 


THE END OF WILL WILTHELM. 


159 


erty. she contrived to make smart, did not fail to gain favor 
with her not too critical audience. 

Meanwhile her husband, standing at the open window, sought 
to relieve the oppression on his chest. As the blast on the horn 
echoed through the hall, a singular expression came over his 
face. “ Would to God,” he murmured, ^^that when I blew that 
blast beside the accursed beacon it had been with my last breath ! ” 

After the woman had executed all that was announced in the 
program, adding a few extra airs in acknowledgment of the ap- 
plause accorded to her, and had made the usual collection, she 
sat down in a corner without taking the least notice of her 
husband. When the audience had departed, she asked crossly 
whether he was ready to go. 

He crossed over to her, his gait betraying extreme fatigue. 
She rose, and pointing to the horn, which lay beside her, she 
said rudely : There, at any rate, you can carry it. Everything 
is put upon me. You will never play the horn again. A nice 
fix we should be in if I could not perform. You are good for 
nothing at all now.” 

^^No, my powers are at an end,” he answered, stooping to 
take up the instrument. Even that action brought on a fresh 
fit of coughing. 

They went up a few stairs to a miserably furnished room. 
The man instantly threw himself on the bed, in a state of utter 
exhaustion ; the woman turned the money out on to the table, and 
sitting down, propped her elbows upon it. 

There seemed to be a good deal collected to-night,” the man 
said presently, in a weak voice. How much is it ? ” 

Count it yourself, if you want to know,” his wife replied, 
peevishly. Not enough to keep us in luxury, I can tell you. 
To think we should have crossed the sea to come to this beg- 


160 


THE END OF WHD WILTHELM, 


gary ! I fared better Vith the old dragon at the mill ; at least I 
knew in the morning where I should' lay my head at night. All 
your promises were as false as the money you coined over there,” 
she added, wishing to annoy him with this taunt. 

He seemed too weak for an angry retort. As long as I had 
plenty I shared it with you,” he said. It was not my fault that 
your singing did not please as I expected, nor that I got this 
fever. You know I told you you had better stay with the child.” 

Do not speak of the child ! ” the woman shrieked, stamping 
her foot on the ground. I have told you twenty times not to 
let its name pass your lips, you unnatural father, you who 
abandoned your own offspring.” 

Would you like to see him pine away in this misery? Ho 
doubt he has found parents who will do better by him than you 
and I could. I had rather the boy died than live such a life 
as we do. I wish I had nothing worse to reproach myself for than 
having left him over there. In our prosperous days you did not 
fret about him.” 

The woman apparently paid no heed to what her husband 
said, so he turned to the wall and kept silence. Such disputes 
were frequent between them; Jenny took every occasion of thus 
emphasizing her disappointment at having all her fair illusions 
put to flight. Whatever were her husband’s faults, he was most 
patient and forbearing toward her; perhaps he felt that he 
had taken undue advantage of a silly young girl’s inexperience. 
Through Frederic’s generosity they were better provided for 
on their arrival than the majority of immigrants. But Will was 
as little disposed for regular, energetic work in the Hew World 
as in the Old ; the money was soon spent, and he relied on his own 
and his wife’s musical talents for their maintenance. At first 
success attended their efforts, but only at first ; after a few months 


THE END OF WILL WILTHELM. 


161 


they were reduced to the hand-to-mouth existence of wandering 
musicians. WilFs weak constitution could not bear privation 
and exposure ; and now the tall, well-set-up gamekeeper of former 
days could scarcely be recognized in the emaciated, bent figure, 
from whom all the sprightliness had departed. 

On the evening in question he was too ill to partake of the 
scanty, unappetizing fare Jenny had provided for supper. To 
her surprise he announced his intention of removing on the mor- 
row to another quarter, nearer the center of the city. This plan 
she declared to be madness, and said she would not accompany 
him. He then acknowledged that he meant to seek admittance 
into a hospital, where a poor outcast could find rest, where he 
could die the death of a Christian, not that of a dog on the street. 

^^That means,” Jenny burst forth, ^^that j^ou will take all 
you have got with you to the hospital, and leave me to shift for 
myself as best I can.” She continued to pour forth representa- 
tions and recriminations until the invalid was attacked by a fit 
which left him unconscious. Breaking off short, she gazed at him 
in alarm, and going to his side was horrified to feel his limbs icy 
as marble, while a cold sweat moistened his brow. After applying 
such remedies as she had within reach, she called to her aid the 
mistress of the house, who soon restored him to consciousness, yet 
his state of prostration was such that she advised Jenny to sit up 
with him all night, and urged his removal to a hospital, where 
he could be properly cared for. 

As Jenny sat beside her husband’s bed she listened to his mur- 
mured words. She caught the name of his brother several times ; 
he must write to him, he said, and ask his forgiveness before it 
is too late. Frederic must look after his boy, for Jenny alone 
could not support him. Incoherent as these mutterings were, they 
were enough to awaken fresh jealousy, fresh mistrust in Jenny’s 


162 


THE END OF WILL WILTHBLM. 


breast. Why should he write to Frederic about their boy ? When 
once she got her little son again, no one should take him from her. 

The next morning Will felt better; he got up, asked for pen 
and paper, and proceeded to indite a lengthy epistle. Before his 
wife, whom he had sent to inquire for employment, came back, he 
sent them to the post. Although the effort of writing tired him 
greatly, he persisted in going the same day to a hospital, to one 
of those refuges for the sick and forlorn which Catholic charity 
has erected in the New World. This hospital was at a long dis- 
tance from their lodgings, but J enny offered no opposition, sobered 
as she was by the seizure of the past night. The hospital pre- 
sented a new sight to her, one which she failed to compr'Ohend. 
Her dark eyes looked with almost a sinister expression at the 
gentle, nursing Sisters, who would have helped her too had she 
accepted their overtures of kindness. 

The peace that reigned in the institution, the spirit of charity 
that pervaded it, exercised a most beneficial influence upon Wilt- 
helm. The good impressions of his early years were revived; he 
gratefully accepted the ministrations of the chaplain. Feeling 
his end drawing near, he was anxious to provide for his wife’s 
future, and begged the priest to assist her to return to her native 
country. He told him all about the child they had abandoned, 
and asked him, after his death, to acquaint his brother with the 
fact. He also sent a message to his mother, commending his 
wife to her care. 

To Jenny herself he gave minute directions as to what she 
was to do and say. He had written, he said, to his brother about 
her ; he would surely be ready to render her comfort and assistance. 
Jenny listened to her husband’s exhortations with a gloomy ex- 
pression. She did not contradict him as was her wont, nor did she 
make any remark. 


JENNY REAPPEARS. 


163 


CHAPTER XVII. 

JENNY REAPPEARS. 

Several months have elapsed since WilFs death, and since 
that bright August morning on which our narrative opens, when 
the itinerant musician first met the “ nut-brown mayde,’’ 
twelve summers have already come and gone. The events 
recorded in the foregoing pages are no longer talked about 
even in that quiet district where events are rare. The arrest 
of the forgers is only casually mentioned; the delinquents have 
served their time in prison, their victims have ceased to lament 
the loss of their money ; the old mill has been sold, and its owner 
has left the neighborhood. On the site of the mill a factory has 
been erected, which has brought more trade into that part of the 
country; the loneliness which Jenny bcAvailed so bitterly has 
given place to life and activity. Jenny’s flight from Gubstedt is 
not forgotten, however. In the memory of the people it is always 
coupled with Frederic’s abrupt departure. Since the disappear- 
ance of the forgers the solitude of the beacon is no longer disturbed 
by nocturnal meetings ; the ill-name attaching to it has increased 
rather than otherwise. The rank grass flourishes there more 
luxuriantly than ever, and the tall trees each year cast a deeper 
shade. 

It was another August morning, as the day began to dawn, 
that an unwonted visitor sought that secluded spot. A woman 
stepped out of the thicket into the clearing and stood looking about 
her in bewilderment, almost in terror. At length her eyes rested 


164 


JENNY REAPPEAm. 


on the ancient post in the center, which had a phantom-like aspect 
in the gray light of morning. Then she forced herself to take a 
step forward, but her self-command broke down, she threw her- 
self on the ground, covering her face with her hands. For a long 
time she cowered there at the foot of the mound, not heeding the 
heavy dew which lay on the grass nor the chilly breeze that stirred 
the trees at break of day. The first sunbeams that reached her 
seemed to rouse her; she rose, and crept timidly to the wall 
surrounding the beacon. Blue gentian, the love-token Frederic 
and Marie once exchanged, grew there in abundance, opening its 
chalices to the golden light of day. The woman did not heed 
the fiowers; she felt the stones in the wall one by one to see if 
any were loose. After pulling out a few tufts of grass she found 
one which she could remove. From behind it she took a small 
parcel, carefully wrapped up so as to preserve it from damp. 
At first she made as if she would open it, but on second thought 
she replaced it hastily, and casting an anxious look around, sought 
to remove all traces of having disturbed the stone. Then shaking 
her fist at the fatal beacon with an angry exclamation she turned 
away. She was evidently no stranger to the place, for she took 
without hesitation the forest path which led toward Arensen. 
Although she had nothing of any weight to carry, she walked 
slowly and wearily, as if oppressed by some heavy load. 

Seen in the broad daylight the woman presented a singular 
appearance. Her dress was untidy, and appeared to have suffered 
from exposure to bad weather. On her back was slung a musical 
instrument which one seldom sees in a woman’s hands — a horn. 
It would have been difficult to guess her age. When she stood 
upright by the beacon, apostrophizing it passionately, she looked 
young; now she crept along with the step of an aged woman. Her 
complexion was sun-burned and weather-beaten; in the thick 


JENNY REAPPEARS, 


165 


coils of dark hair visible beneath the red kerchief she wore on her 
head many a silver thread was discernible. 

All who passed her on the road, and there were many that day, 
surveyed her with a curious stare. It was plain they thought her 
a gipsy on her way to Arensen. For it was again the fair-day at 
that town, and for that reason the road, usually lonely, was the 
scene of continual traffic. The wayfarer, in whom the reader will 
have recognized Jenny, resented the observation to which she was 
subjected, and returned the stare with a sinister frown. Presently 
a young fellow, who thought himself witty, asked her what she 
would charge for playing a march as they went up the hill, or 
whether she would play them a dance on the market-place? A 
cartful of young girls whom he was driving began to titter. Jenny 
looked after them with wrathful eyes. It had never occurred to 
her that this was market-day at Arensen, or she would have taken 
a less frequented road. She sighed as the merry party drove on, 
to think how changed she was from the smart, showy girl who 
trudged along that road twelve years before. Where was the old 
crone behind whom she walked until the clarion’s shrill blast 
startled and alarmed her ? Where was the pleasing young fellow 
whose admiration flattered her so deeply, whose glib tongue de- 
picted the world and its pleasures so enticingly ? He flrst awoke 
the longing for a gay life in her breast. All her bright visions 
had faded into twilight gray; he was sleeping in a foreign land, 
where in his last hours he had found the rest and peace to which 
all his life he had been a stranger. 

She, who at flrst clung to him with such passionate affection, 
who allowed herself willingly to be led by him on the downward 
path, now thought of him almost with hatred, as having ruined 
her life and blasted all her hopes of happiness. She could not 
forgive him for having induced her to abandon her child, for 


166 


JENNY REAPPEARS. 


having wronged her in her maternal rights. On this account she 
would not follow his advice and admonitions. The chaplain of 
the hospital, in accordance with the dying man’s request, furnished 
her with the means of returning to her native place, but she 
would not betake herself to Will’s relatives, as he wished her to 
do, nor make use of Frederic’s address, which he procured for 
her from the banker. Some instinct impelled her to repair to 
the spot where she had taken leave of her child, and where the 
pocketbook was hidden which contained the documents which 
would prove her to be the boy’s mother. She had made her way 
across the country principally on foot, earning her bread by her 
musical talents, till she reached the beacon ; the sight of that ill- 
omened spot moved her to the center of her being. She no longer 
blamed others; she reproached herself bitterly. There with her 
own hands she laid her baby down, there she heard its last cry, 
there she steeled her heart against it, stifled her maternal feelings, 
in order to seek an easier, more luxurious existence. For the first 
time the thought struck her that her child might perhaps be dead. 
The legend said that the heathen used of old to sacrifice their 
children at that beacon, that a quantity of the bones of infants 
had been found there. A superstitious fear seized upon her ; she 
remembered she had brushed against the fatal post, to touch which 
infallibly brought misfortune. 

As she proceeded slowly on her way she soon heard again the 
sound of wheels behind her, and almost involuntarily she turned 
her head to see what was coming. It was a low chaise, drawn by 
a sturdy pony, and covered with a linen awning, which prevented 
her from seeing who was in it at first. As the vehicle came nearer, 
the merry chatter of children reached her ears, and she saw that 
the driver was a lad some fourteen years old. The day was not 
bright and sunny like that August day twelve years ago. The 


JENNY REAPPEARS. 


167 


sky was overcast, and already a few drops of rain began to fall. 
The children put out their heads one after another, with loud 
lamentations in regard to the weather, and in doing so they 
observed the strange-looking pedestrian, pointing her out to one 
another, and making remarks upon her in a loud-pitched tone. 
A girl of about ten bade her brothers and sisters be silent, and 
the boy who was driving, compassionating the poor woman trudg- 
ing wearily along in the rain with the strange instrument on her 
back, raised his hat to her as he passed, with the respect for 
poverty and misfortune which so well becomes the young. As 
he did so the woman looked him full in the face, a handsome, 
merry, good-humored face that seemed strangely familiar to her. 

The chaise went on slowly, toiling up the steep hill. Jenny 
looked after it as if spellbound. What had that boyish counte- 
nance suggested to her? Perhaps for the first time she awoke to 
the consciousness that her own boy, whom she still always thought 
of as a nursling, must now be about as old as that boy. A vague 
hope that she would not acknowledge to herself suddenly awoke 
in her an irresistible desire to follow the chaise, to see its driver 
again. With feverish haste she pressed onward; with panting 
breath and throbbing pulses she sought to overtake the convey- 
ance; she forced her aching limbs to bear her forward. Was it 
possible that by a merciful dispensation of providence her child 
was sent by this road to meet her? 

The children noticed the efforts the woman was making to get 
up with them; the good-natured little driver stopped the pony 
and conferred with the eldest girl, who seemed to demur to the 
proposal he made. However, his wish prevailed, for when Jenny 
came up, he asked her in a kind manner whether she had anything 
to say to them, or would she like a lift on the way to Arensen? 
This offer she accepted without a moment’s hesitation, fixing her 


168 


JENNY REAPPEARS. 


eyes meanwhile with so scrutinizing a gaze on the boy that he 
grew quite confused. He assisted her into the chaise; she took 
her place with a brief word of thanks. The other children looked 
shyly at her; the presence of a stranger tied their tongues for a 
time. A second glance at the boy dispelled Jenny’s illusion. He 
was not the least like the Wilthelms, and she knew how striking 
the resemblance was in her child. She would have preferred to 
continue her way alone, but her weariness was so great that she 
felt it would be impossible to proceed further on foot. Presently 
the children began to talk again, as they gradually got accus- 
tomed to the stranger’s presence, and in their childish prattle she 
caught names familiar to her ear. They spoke of Gubstedt as 
their home, hoped their father would not be tired of having to 
wait for them, wondered whether ^^Aunt” Schmittler would be 
there, and bring Henry, or whether he would have to stay at 
home because of his bad leg, etc. 

J enny had heard enough. She now knew why the eldest boy’s 
countenance was familiar to her. These were Mrs. Wallmuth’s 
children ; the one who acted as charioteer was the child of whom 
she had charge when at the farm. She was very fond of the little 
fellow, and he was no less fond of her, and it was this affection 
between them that made her a favorite with his mother. The 
eldest girl was the baby she had in her arms while she planned 
her fateful flight; and the ^^Aunt” Schmittler they spoke of — 
could that be Marie ? And the boy whom they mentioned in the 
same breath? Who was that? She did not venture to question 
the children for fear of betraying who she was. Then she chided 
herself for her folly; her boy was not named Henry, and Marie 
probably by this time bore another name. Besides, they said the 
boy was lame, and very delicate, whereas her child was brimful 
of health and strength. No; it could not be I She determined to 


JENNY REAPPEARS. 


169 


go on with the children as far as Arensen, and thence take the 
road to Wiesen. No doubt she could learn a great deal about 
Marie Schmittler at Arensen. An unwonted feeling of shame 
came over her. How, she asked herself, could she present herself 
before Marie to claim her child — what could she say in her own 
justification? Would its foster-parents not repudiate her claim? 
Would not their adopted child shrink from her? And if he had 
been carefully brought up with every comfort like these children, 
what had she, penniless and homeless, to offer him? Could she 
rob him of his happiness ? Yet she was his mother, the boy be- 
longed to her. 

Perceiving the troubled expression on the stranger’s face, her 
little companions thought she might be hungry, and offered her 
some of the provisions with which they had been liberally fur- 
nished. J enny hesitated at first, then she took a little, as she had 
not broken her fast that day. Meanwhile the outskirts of the town 
were reached, and she asked them to set her down. Nor were 
they loth to do so, as they did not want to drive on to the market- 
place with this strange guest. They saw, however, that she fol- 
lowed the carriage at a distance, walking more hastily than they 
could have supposed possible. Presently the noise of the fair 
turned their attention in another direction. 

When they reached the place where the carriages were put 
up Mr. Wallmuth, now a stout, elderly man, was there looking 
out for them. Beside him stood Marie Schmittler, and with her 
a pale-faced lad on crutches. His dark eyes gazed with more 
timidity than pleasure at the merry-making around him, and his 
thin features bore the unmistakable stamp of suffering. The 
little Wallmuths ran up to him and greeted him boisterously, then 
they went off in the direction of the booths. The lame boy made 
a doubly sad impression when surrounded by his strong, healthy 


JEmr REAPPEARS. 


no 

friends. When he turned, it could be seen that a recumbent 
position for a long time had interfered with his growth; one 
shoulder was more prominent than the other. 

The children did not notice that the strange woman who had 
driven part of the way with them had followed them, and now 
stood close to them, her eyes fixed on the group before her, till 
they were lost in the crowd. Then a piercing cry rent the air ; she 
had fallen down as if struck by a thunderbolt. The bystanders 
hastened to her aid, but she assured them it was an attack to 
which she was subject, and would soon pass away. 

As soon as she was alone, Jenny clenched her fists in impotent 
rage. Her features were distorted with fury. Yes ; she had recog- 
nized him, she would have known him amid a thousand — ^it was 
her boy ! And that was the handsome child of whom she was so 
proud, who was so lusty and so strong! At that moment she 
forgot that she it was who abandoned the child; she forgot the 
sin of which she had been guilty ; she only heaped curses on those 
who — she surmised — had neglected the child. She even cursed 
her husband for having said the boy was probably better cared for 
than she could have cared for him. They had made him a cripple 
— made her beautiful boy that miserable object ! 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER, 


171 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 

Some years back Marie had renewed her intercourse with the 
family at Gubstedt. After the unpleasant letter she received from 
Mrs. Wallmuth she held aloof from her former friend, avoiding 
every occasion of meeting her, and declining every invitation to 
visit her. At length Mrs. Wallmuth determined to put an end to 
the estrangement; she drove over to Wiesen unannounced, with 
her three younger children, whom Marie had never seen, and by 
the warmth of her embrace fairly took the position by storm. 
Marie, on her par't, was heartily glad, in spite of what had oc- 
curred, once again to see her old and dear friend, who looked 
kinder, more beaming with good humor, than ever ; she knew, too, 
that it was real friendship that dictated the ill-judged and over- 
hasty act that gave so much offense, and condemned her friend 
less harshly than at first. 

She soon recognized, also, the advantage that would accrue to 
her nursling from intercourse with the children from Gubstedt. 
In consequence of his ill-health he had been debarred from mixing 
with children of his age, and through being constantly with adults, 
he had become somewhat precocious. The little Wallmuths, who 
inherited their parents’ kindliness of heart, were doubly attentive 
to the sick boy. Association with them aroused in him the desire 
for physical movement and more independent action — a desire 
which had frequently to be checked, from motives of prudence. 
It was in consequence of the representations of his little friends 


172 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


concerning the delights of the fair, and their entreaties that he 
might share them, that he obtained Marie’s consent to go to the 
festivities at Arensen. She consented reluctantly^ for she foresaw 
that the crowding and bustle on the market-place would cause the 
boy more fatigue than pleasure. She had never been there since 
the memorable day when she drove in with Mrs. Wallmuth and 
Frederic, and she feared the memories it would recall. However, 
the struggle was over now; she could look calmly at what was 
replete with sorrow and pain in the past, since she had applied 
herself to the fulfilment of her new duties. She was now more 
pleasing both in appearance and in manner than in the first 
bloom of youth ; her beauty was riper, her expression more serene. 
The scandal that at one time was afioat concerning her had died 
out ; she was respected by all who knew her. Mr. Wallmuth always 
had entertained the highest opinion of her; he admired the self- 
sacrificing devotion she manifested toward the sick child. 

While Marie sat in the tent with Mr. Wallmuth, chatting with 
their acquaintances, the boy found his glowing anticipations of 
the delights in store for him at Arensen were far from being ful- 
filled. The fatigue and exertion involved spoiled all enjoyment 
for him, and although Herman, the eldest of the Wallmuths, a 
well-grown, intelligent boy, did his utmost to alleviate the dif- 
ficulty his invalid friend experienced in going about, yet the crush 
of people, the unevenness of the ground, the uproar all around, 
were altogether too much for him. His exhaustion only served to 
make him more painfully conscious of his own infirmities; he 
noticed the sympathizing looks directed toward him, he heard 
the compassionate remarks made about him. Moreover, he hated 
to be a check on his companions’ enjoyment, and when the pro- 
posal to ride in a merry-go-round was negatived on his account, 
he begged to be left to rest somewhere while the others took their 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


173 


turn in the giddy circle. A quiet corner was found behind a 
booth where he could sit on some upturned boxes. Herman 
offered to remain with him, but Henry assured him he could take 
care of himself. Thus it came to pass that the boy was left alone 
in the midst of the busy crowd. Overwhelmed with weariness and 
with a keen sense of his helplessness and deformity, his over- 
wrought nerves found relief in an outburst of tears. 

A slight sound made him look up, fearful lest any one should 
have surprised him in that moment of weakness. To his astonish- 
ment, partly to his alarm, he saw beside him a woman whom he 
had repeatedly encountered that day, and whose singular ap- 
pearance had struck him; the other children nodded to her, and 
told how she had driven part of the way with them. So frequently 
did she cross their path that it seemed as if she got in their way 
intentionally. Henry disliked and resented the pitying gaze she 
fixed on him. Now that she was close to him, her dark eyes 
seemed to look him through and through. 

He felt so uncomfortable that he would gladly have gone away ; 
indeed, he made an effort to rise to his feet, but the stranger laid 
a firm hand on his shoulder and placed herself before him. The 
next moment she clasped him in a warm embrace. 

My child, my child, my little son ! she whispered, and 
Henry felt her hot kisses on his lips. 

My child, how I have missed you ! And now in what a state 
I find you ! Ill-luck to those who brought you to this misery ! No ; 
do not call out, do not be frightened,’^ she added hastily, seeing 
the boy turn pale. I am not a thief nor a beggar, though I do 
look disreputable. I am your mother. I have come from afar 
for your sake. I should have known you anywhere: you have 
your father’s features and my eyes. Have they ever told you any- 
thing about your mother? Do you know your parentage? Say, 


174 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


what have you heard about your mother ? Have they told you she 
abandoned you that you might be well brought up ? ” 

The boy could not frame a reply; he trembled from head to 
foot. He longed to get away, but those dark eyes held him spell- 
bound. His head seemed to go round; was he asleep or awake? 

The woman noticed that her vehemence had frightened the 
boy. She sat down beside him, stroked his hair, and spoke to 
him in caressing accents. My poor, dear boy, they have brought 
you to this wretched state; I left you fair and strong and well; 
alas ! it would have been better for you to beg your bread with 
your poor mother ! How,” she went on with rising passion, for 
my punishment my child does not know me ! I must not stay here ; 
they must not find me here, or they will never let me see you 
again. Can you read and write ? ” The boy nodded assent. 

There, read that, it will prove that I am your mother ; but swear 
that you will not tell any one that I was here with you ; you must 
not betray me. I must go. Write to me to this address — be sure 
to write to me. There, take this. I can give you something, poor 
as I am,” she concluded, thrusting a gingerbread cake into his 
hand. 

Again she enjoined on him to say not a word about having 
seen her, again she pressed hot kisses on his cheek, again she 
clasped him to her breast. Then almost before he came to his 
senses she vanished noiselessly. 

Henry at first hardly ventured to look round for fear of seeing 
.that excited countenance again. Only the cake that lay on his 
lap, the folded paper in his hand, made him conscious that he 
was not dreaming. She said she was his mother ! Ho doubt she 
was right ; he had never been told anything about his parents. A 
multitude of confused ideas rose in his mind ; before he had time 
to collect his thoughts the children came back. He had sufficient 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


176 


self-possession to hide the paper, resolving not to speak of what 
had occurred. His agitation, however, was so apparent that his 
little friends feared they had left him too long alone, and he was 
obliged, to disarm suspicion, to accompany them to some of the 
sights of the fair. 

As he got up the gingerbread cake fell from his hand; one of 
the boys who picked it up broke a piece off. Henry snatched it 
from him so angrily, displaying such undue irritation, that the 
eldest lad, surprised at this departure from his usual gentle man- 
ner, attributed it to over-excitement and over-fatigue, and pro- 
posed that they should join their elders in the tent. 

Marie at once noticed the weariness in her foster-child’s fea- 
tures, and determined to take him home immediately. He was 
quite willing to go, despite the outcry made by his little friends. 
During the drive back he sat so still and silent that Marie feared 
the outing had really been too much for him. When they got 
home, he would not take any refreshment, saying he only wanted 
to lie down and rest. Presently Marie, going into his room, saw 
him lying on his bed, apparently fast asleep; she smiled as she 
observed that he had placed the gingerbread cake close beside him. 
His sleep was only feigned. No sooner was he sure that she had 
gone away than he sat upright, staring at the paper in his hand, 
although the room was too dark to allow of his reading it. Its 
contents were already printed on his memory. J enny had written 
it beforehand, in case she should not find an opportunity of 
speaking to the boy. It contained much of what she said to him, 
giving besides the date of his birth, the day and month when she 
left him at the beacon; also describing the clothes he then wore. 
She also bade him make inquiries as to the truth of her statements, 
documents in proof of which were hidden in the wall surrounding 
the beacon. Moreover, she desired him to meet her there, if he had 


176 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


any filial affection toward the mother who bore him; above all 
not to let a word concerning their meeting escape his lips, or they 
would be separated forever. He was to write and fix the day and 
hour, addressing his note : J. W., Poste Eestante, Arensen. 

It may he imagined what agitation and conflicting emotions 
this occurrence aroused in the boy’s mind. If the woman was 
really his mother, had she not the strongest claim on him ? Must 
he not follow where she called ? About a year before curiosity as 
to his parentage had led him to question Marie on the subject, 
and for the first and only time her usual placidity and good- 
temper forsook her. She answered curtly, almost crossly, that he 
had lost both parents while very young, vouchsafing no further 
information. Somewhat later she embraced him affectionately, 
saying she trusted God would enable her to replace those whom 
he had lost. The boy, who in matters of sentiment was beyond his 
years, felt instinctively that he had touched a sore point, and did 
not allude to the subject again. Hot to Marie, that is, but he 
questioned the elderly cousin who lived with her concerning his 
birth and family name. This cousin could not conceal her dis- 
like to the child, whom she regarded as an interloper, but fearing 
to displease Marie if she told the truth, she made up a story about 
his parents, speaking of them with undisguised contempt. He 
now remembered this story, and convinced of its untruth, was all 
the more eager to fathom the mystery that veiled his birth. He 
felt keenly that some deception had been practised on him; that 
his mother was unhappy, and he was separated from her by the 
fault of others. His trust in Marie was shaken thereby, and the 
accusations of the strange woman in regard to his ill-treatment 
recurred to his mind, awakening a sense of having been injured. 
He remembered reading stories which told of children being taken 
from their mothers for some reason of hatred or jealousy. One 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


177 


thing seemed to confirm him in the belief that the stranger was 
really his mother ; the initials under which he was to direct to her 
were the same as those which were marked on a shawl which he 
was told had been wrapped round him when an infant. 

Harassed by these thoughts, Henry was not his usual self the 
next day. In answer to Marie’s anxious inquiries as to the cause of 
his changed appearance he pleaded headache and fatigue. In the 
afternoon she found him engaged in writing a letter, one too, the 
composition of which was no easy matter, as several abortive at- 
tempts lay torn up beside him. She warned him not to exert 
himself too much, and expressed her wonder that he should want 
to write to his friends at Gubstedt, when he only saw them yes- 
terday. As he corresponded with no one else, she concluded that 
the epistle was for one of the Wallmuths. He took it to the post 
himself, and on his return began asking her about the beacon, 
whether it was far from Gubstedt, and whether one could go 
thither better from there or from Wiesen. The name of that ill- 
omened spot had always a hateful sound in Marie’s ears, doubly 
so when it came from Henry’s lips. She supposed the children 
had told him of it ; when asked, he answered in the affirmative, and 
said he should like to see the spot. The persistence with which 
he inquired as to its whereabouts aroused her suspicions that he 
had been told that he was a foundling, picked up there. The 
thought that the boy could not much longer be kept in ignorance 
of his parentage was a sore grief to her. She determined to consult 
her clerical friend on the subject. 

One morning a few days later the boy came to her, his burning 
cheeks and the gleam in his eyes betraying great excitement. 
With a passionate gesture he threw his arms round her neck, and 
begged her permission to go to Gubstedt, as he had received an in- 
vitation from the Wallmuths. They would meet him at the beacon, 


178 


HENRY HEAR8 FROM HIS MOTHER. 


they said; it was all arranged for one day early in the next 
week. 

Marie was not much surprised at this proposal, as she was 
aware that he had frequently been invited to Gubstedt, and the 
invitation had been urgently renewed at Arensen. The meeting 
at the beacon seemed to account for the inquiries the boy had 
made as to its situation. Still she was reluctant to consent to 
the plan. The last drive had undoubtedly been prejudicial to 
the boy; besides, it was harvest-time, a very busy time for her, 
when her presence could ill be spared. She had always had Henry 
with her, and the idea of letting him go alone never entered her 
head. This he divined, and with some impatience of manner 
urged that if she could not accompany him he could quite well, 
just for once, go without her. The little Wallmuths, who were 
much younger than he, had driven to Arensen with no one but 
their brother; would she not allow one of the servants to drive 
him to the appointed rendezvous? He could not always be a 
child; he was not so helpless as to be unable to make so trifling 
an excursion alone. 

The accent of bitterness discernible in these last words decided 
Marie to yield to his wish. He would smart more under the sense 
of his infirmities if he was made to feel that they impeded him 
from doing as others did, and he must learn by degrees to be less 
dependent. If she sent a trustworthy man with him, no harm 
could happen to him, and she was rather glad not to have to go 
to Gubstedt herself. So after a brief deliberation she gave her 
consent. He had always been conscientious and truthful, there- 
fore Marie did not suspect that any dissimulation was being prac- 
tised upon her. He did not, however, appear as pleased as she 
expected when his request was granted; a nervous agitation pos- 
sessed him as the day drew near, but the mention of postponement 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


179 


seemed to irritate him unaccountably. And when the elderly 
relative suggested that Marie should at least see the letter of in- 
vitation, or write to ascertain whether the parents authorized the 
arrangement the children had made, the boy burst into tears, and 
was so disconcerted that to pacify him Marie declared that she 
had full confidence in him, and was sure he would justify that 
confidence. 

But on hearing this, a tremor ran over the child; he hid his 
head on her shoulder : Forgive me,” he stammered ; I can not 
help it; I can not do otherwise.” 

Marie stroked his fair hair affectionately, and bade him be 
calm and master his feelings. She little thought what self-control 
the boy was exercising. After a long conflict between filial duty 
and gratitude to his benefactress, he had come to the resolution 
to learn all about his birth and parentage ; then, with proof in his 
hand, to lay his mothers claims before Marie. He would fain have 
consulted Mr. Wallmuth before acting, but his mother adjured 
him so strongly, both by word of mouth and by letter, to keep her 
secret, that he desisted from his purpose, and agreed to carry out 
the plan she had formed. Why she cast upon Marie the blame 
of his physical infirmity he could not conceive; his sense of justice 
revolted from the charge, when he thought of the unremitting 
care and tender, self-sacrificing devotion she had constantly dis- 
played toward him. She would pardon the deception he had prac- 
tised when he told her everything. Perhaps she did not know that 
his mother was still living. 

When the fateful day came Henry seemed less excited, though 
in the preceding night he had been heard crying and moaning. 
With some embarrassment of manner he asked Marie to give him 
a little money, in case he should have to spend something. She 
smiled at the importance he attached to this excursion, and gave 


180 


HENRY HEARS FROM HIS MOTHER. 


him a small sum. He thanked her effusively, and again passion- 
ately entreated her not to be angry with him. She soothed him 
and told him he must enjoy himself as much as he could and be 
sure to come back in good time the next day. 

Although Henry had gained his wish^ he did not look joyful 
as he drove away in the light chaise, turning round ever and again 
to wave farewell to his foster-mother until a turn in the road hid 
her from sight. As Marie looked after him his likeness to Fred- 
eric struck her more forcibly than ever. She had not noticed it 
of late. She could not suppress a feeling of regret that she had 
consented to this expedition, she hardly knew why. There really 
was no ground for uneasiness; the distance the boy had to go 
was comparatively short, and the servant to whose care he was 
confided was thoroughly trustworthy. 

The day was hot and cloudless, threatening to be very sultry 
about noontime. Yet it was not the oppressive atmosphere that 
weighed upon Marie as she returned to the house; never before, 
since the day when, ten years ago, she brought Henry thither, did 
it seem so empty and so desolate. 


FREDERIC COMMUNICATES WITH THE OLD PASTOR. 181 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FREDERIC COMMUNICATES WITH THE OLD PASTOR. 

Only a short time before Jenny’s appearance disturbed the 
even tenor of her boy’s life so greatly, the peace of mind which 
Frederic had, at the cost of much self-discipline, at last attained, 
was again sorely troubled. The disturbing element this time was 
the letter Will wrote before his admission into the hospital. Fred- 
eric had not been wrong in dreading rather than desiring news of 
his brother. Will’s appearance had in past years always been like 
that of the stormy petrel, a presage of misfortune. This letter 
was, it was true, written in a very different spirit to any Will had 
heretofore shown. The gratitude and sense of obligation to Fred- 
eric which he expressed was the first return he had made for all 
that had been done for him. He said he would not enter upon 
the past, for which he must give an account to almighty God ; he 
begged his brother to think kindly of him, and not to refuse a 
fresh care which he was compelled to lay upon him. In as few 
words as possible he told him that a child had been born to him 
in the town where he and Jenny resided for a time; that it was 
baptized and entered in the parish register under the name of 
Frederic Wilthelm — their father’s name — and before their de- 
parture for Xew York it was abandoned at the beacon, and found 
by Marie Schmittler. Whether the child was alive or dead he 
knew not ; he asked Frederic to make inquiries concerning it. It 
would be known anywhere on account of its likeness to the Wilt- 
helms. Jenny had not been a bad wife to him, only they two, 


m FREDERIC COMMUmCATES WITH THE OLD PASTOR. 

a pair of unbroken colts, could not run in harness together. When 
she returned to her native country after his death, he trusted to 
Frederic to look after the poor woman, to help her find her son, 
and see that he was brought up to be a better man than his father. 
The letter concluded with thanks for all the brotherly kindness 
shown by Frederic to the writer, and an entreaty for forgiveness 
for the misfortune he had been the means of bringing upon him. 

This epistle, despite its repentant tone, was most unwelcome 
to Frederic. He did not know how much to believe, and felt a 
new burden was to be laid on him. This foolish couple had a son, 
and had left him behind them, never troubling themselves in all 
those years to inquire whether he was alive or dead, and now were 
so utterly inconsiderate as to foist their offspring on him ! What 
business was it of his? Had he not done enough by straining 
every nerve to enable his brother to start afresh in a new sphere ? 
What claim had the giddy mother on him, who, when a girl, re- 
jected his advice and later on neglected her most sacred duties? 

One thing puzzled him : why they mentioned Marie Schmittler 
in connection with the child. Did they suppose she would take 
charge of it because she had been engaged to him? He smiled 
sarcastically at his brother’s effrontery; Marie really had good 
reason for .refusing to ally herself with such people. 

Although he resolved not to mix again in his brother’s affairs, 
he altered his mind on receiving, a few weeks later, a letter from 
the chaplain of the hospital in Hew York, announcing his brother’s 
death. It informed him that Will had died repentant and re- 
signed, humbly asking forgiveness, and begging his brother to 
accede to the request he expressed in his letter. The widow was 
already on her way to rejoin her late husband’s relatives. 

So his restless brother had at last entered upon eternal rest ! 
Death is a great reconciler. Frederic could not forget that the 


FREDERIC COMMUmCATES WITH THE OLD FACTOR. 183 

departed was his aged mother’s favorite son, and that the tidings 
of his death would be a great shock to her in her enfeebled state, 
especially if imparted by that son’s wife, of whose existence she 
was probably ignorant. He was now the head of the family, her 
only son ; was it not his obvious duty to soften the blow to her ? 
Nor could he utterly disregard his brother’s dying petition, com- 
mending his wife and orphaned child to his care, who was now 
their natural protector. 

Frederic had a hard battle to fight with himself before re- 
solving to perform a duty in every way repugnant to his feelings. 
In seeking the child he would have to communicate with the 
police, to reveal Will’s identity with Henry Law, and thus revive 
the memory of a dishonorable past. He would have to come in 
contact with Marie Schmittler, as she was said to know what 
had become of the child. 

But Frederic was not the man to omit a duty because it was 
unpleasant; he determined to act at once. His work was all so 
well-ordered that it was easy to entrust it for a time to a substi- 
tute; during all the period of his residence in Russia he had 
never taken a holiday, and with his employer’s consent arrange- 
ments were soon made for his immediate departure. How to 
approach Marie Schmittler was the most formidable difficulty; 
he had heard nothing of her since her curt and cold answer, and 
with self-torturing persistence he told himself she was probably 
the wife of another, that very likely she had left Wiesen. He had 
broken off the correspondence with the priest, but now he saw no 
alternative but to write a few lines to him, in as business-like a 
manner as his agitation would permit, asking him to send the 
answer to his mother’s house, where he hoped soon to arrive. 

In looking over some old letters for the good priest’s name 
and address, a morsel of paper on which Marie had written the 


184 FREDERIC COMMUNICATES WITH THE OLD PASTOR, 

words: ^^Your own,” and the little bunch of gentian which she 
gave him when they first spoke of love fluttered to the ground. 
Frederic picked up the withered blossoms, which yet retained their 
color, and restored them fondly to their place. Then for the first 
time the idea struck him that Marie might have had some reason 
of which he was ignorant for her abrupt rejection of him. Cer- 
tainly it was not for the sake of breaking the sad news to his 
mother before they reached her in any other way, nor for the 
sake of discovering a day or two sooner the lost child, that Fred- 
eric was desirous to start forthwith on his journey. Another 
motive impelled him to lose no time in revisiting his home; in 
vain he told himself over and over again that it was folly to 
imagine Marie was still free, that she could possibly revoke her 
decision. Frederic was guilty of that folly as he sped onward 
toward his native land. 

***** 

Meanwhile Henry, Marie’s foster-child, was approaching the 
goal of his short journey. The day was sultry, and as they as- 
cended the hill on the Arensen road the servant cast many anxious 
glances at the sky, where light, white clouds were collecting. The 
weather would not last fine, he said, adding with a good-natured 
smile: ^^What a way the mistress would be in if there was a 
storm.” Henry took an interest in nothing ; he only asked eagerly 
from time to time if they were near the beacon. 

Jenny had already been sitting several hours on the well- 
known mound. When the sound of approaching wheels struck 
her ear, she started up and listened. Although the spot was shady 
the heat was oppressive ; large beads of perspiration stood on her 
brow, her cheeks glowed like fire. What had she come there for ? 
To take back her child, she told herself, whom she had left there 
against her will. It was not true that he was better off with 


FREDERIC COMMVmCATEB V/ITH THE OLD PASTOR. 185 


strangers than with her ; she had had to work for two, she would 
do so still. Her boy should not want for anything. That woman 
with the gentle eyes — so she designated Marie — had deceived her. 

She has made a cripple of him, she has ruined the happiness of 
his life ! She will get between me and my child as she formerly 
got between me and some one else.” 

Jenny had much improved her appearance since her coming 
to Arensen. Instinct told her that she must not look like a beg- 
gar if she was to win her boy’s confidence. Her performances on 
the horn at the inn at Wiesen had met with much approval, and 
the novelty of the instrument being played by a woman adding to 
her success, she had earned a considerable sum, which, she thought, 
together with what she had saved from the money given her for her 
journey, would keep her and the boy for the present. She also 
bought a few clothes so as to look more respectable when awaiting 
the arrival of her son. She had brought all her little possessions 
with her, and the horn lay beside the bundle that contained them. 

When the chaise stopped she pulled herself together with a 
strong effort of will, and parting the bushes, stepped to the spot 
whence a view of the road was obtained. She heard the boy tell 
the driver to stop there. To this the man demurred on account 
of the threatening state of the sky. But the boy persisted, al- 
leging that he was expected there; he bade the man wait until 
he came back. While he was speaking Jenny came forward, and 
with a strong arm lifted the boy, whose fragile form trembled on 
seeing her, out of the chaise. 

With surprise and not a little mistrust the servant eyed the 
stranger, wondering whether he ought to protest against this un- 
expected turn of affairs. But she muttered something about hav- 
ing waited, and the others coming soon — moreover, Henry did 
not betray any astonishment at meeting with her; so he con- 


186 FREDERIC COMMUNICATES WITH THE OLD PASTOR, 

eluded she had probably been sent by the Wallmuths to take care 
of him. She lifted him easily over the ditch and up the bank, 
then after a few words had been exchanged between them, Henry 
bade the servant drive slowly on to the mill, where they would 
rejoin him. Again the man warned him against lingering, as the 
weather was very unsettled. As he departed he heard the woman 
pacifying his young charge, who stood looking after the chaise 
irresolute and half-frightened. 

The heavy clouds and the thunder that rumbled in the dis- 
tance later on in the day caused Marie the gravest uneasiness. A 
hundred times she regretted having let the boy go, and only in 
the afternoon, when heavy rain set in, did she console herself with 
the thought that he had already long before reached Gubstedt. 
The fall in the temperature bore witness, however, to a storm 
somewhere in the neighborhood, and the weather-wise pointed in 
the direction of the hills on the other side of which Arensen lay. 

Toward evening Marie’s thoughts were turned in a different 
direction, and her mind wholly engrossed by the contents of a 
letter which was brought to her from the presbytery. Before 
opening it she withdrew to her own room, to be out of hearing of 
the predictions and surmises which her companion was exchanging 
with the servants about the storm. The tempest raised in Marie’s 
heart by that letter was scarcely less formidable than that which 
had raged in the neighboring forest. 

When Marie unfolded the letter and saw the handwriting and 
signature her first impulse was to return it unread. But curiosity 
and desire prevailed ; the desire to know what led her former friend 
to awaken bygone memories after so many years. As she read, 
•the old affection, the old longing, flared up anew; for a moment 
she forgot the gulf that yawned between herself and the distant 
writer. 


FREDERIC C0MMUmCATE8 WITH THE OLD PABTOR. 187 


Frederic had written more warmly than he imagined. He did 
not mention the actual object of his inquiries, lest, should his 
friend be dead, the letter might fall into the hands of a stranger. 
He was, he said, compelled to revisit his native land for a short 
time on account of a strange story, in clearing up which he must 
ask the assistance of the priest. He asked where Marie was, 
whether she was happy, and whether she would allow him to see 
her again. They had been separated by the fault, the disgrace 
of others, and he saw Marie’s conduct to be quite justifiable. Yet 
time blunted the edge of one’s sensibilities; he hoped she would 
consent to an interview, as he had lately become acquainted with 
circumstances he little suspected and which called for explanation. 
As for himself, matters had gone well with him, with the exception 
of the one wound, which still bled and would never be healed. 

Sweet as it was to Marie to find that her lover still thought 
of her constantly, still grieved at being parted from her, yet the 
words : the fault, the disgrace of others, opened afresh the flood- 
gates of her grief. How long did he intend to keep up this farce ? 
The letter spoke of mistakes, misapprehensions, the need of ex- 
planation. A mistake indeed ! He little knew how that counte- 
nance on which Marie’s eyes had rested continually for years 
spoke too plainly to allow of any mistake ; how the expression of 
those eyes had that very morning furnished an unanswerable argu- 
ment! And he thought that everything was to be forgiven and 
forgotten, that he should be admitted to her presence ! If he came 
she would show him his mistake. But no, he must not come ; she 
would not look again into those eyes which she once believed to 
be so honest and true, and by which she had been so shamefully 
deceived. She would tell Frederic nothing, lest he should take 
from her the last which she could call her own, the boy, his no 
longer, since he had disowned him, and the mother had abandoned 


188 FREDERIC COMMUNICATES WITH THE OLD PASTOR. 


him; the right to call him hers had been purchased by Marie 
with a thousand sorrows. Early on the morrow she would hasten 
to her old friend and beg" him to prevent Frederic from coming ; 
any communication between him and her must be by letter. In 
her excitement it seemed as if the night would never be gone, and 
the letter might not be in time to prevent Frederic from coming. 


THE ENDINH. 


189 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE ENDING. 

But when the day dawned it brought tidings of a far more 
terrible nature, which drove all thoughts of the letter out of her 
mind. She was roused from the slumber into which she had 
fallen toward morning by a babel of voices in the courtyard below. 
Before she was fully awake her elderly companion rushed in, call- 
ing upon her to get up at once and come down, as something had 
happened. Marie threw on her clothes, thrust Frederic’s letter 
into her pocket, and hurried down stairs. She found the hall full 
of people, the servants standing round a man whose weary ap- 
pearance and mud-bespattered garments proclaimed that he had 
come from a distance. He was evidently the bearer of important 
tidings, for all eyes were fixed on him. 

About half an hour before he had ridden into the village, an- 
nouncing that there had been a fearful storm over the hill, the 
boy from Schmittler’s farm had received a severe injury, and a 
woman had been killed in the forest through the fall of a tree. 

The news spread like wildfire from mouth to mouth, and one 
and another of the villagers had followed the messenger to the 
house, in the hope of learning further details of what had oc- 
curred. Henry was not liked in the village ; people grudged him 
the place he occupied and the care lavished on him. Little sym- 
pathy was felt for Marie. The boy was nothing to her, they said, 
and those who would have spared the feelings of a mother were 


190 


THE ENDING, 


the first to greet her, as she descended the stairs, with the news of 
the catastrophe. 

Marie stared vacantly at the crowd; her elderly relative has- 
tened to act as spokesman. It was, as she had said, she knew no 
good would come of letting the boy go. Wallmuths knew nothing 
at all about his coming; it was a trumped up story; a strange 
woman had met him at the beacon, and there as a punishment for 
his deceit he met with a terrible accident. Well, she was not to 
blame for it. 

Marie vainly endeavored to get at the true state of affairs; 
the woman’s statements only confused her. Then the man came 
up to her to deliver his message. He saw from her pale, hor- 
rified face how great a shock she had received, and in some em- 
barrassment, began his narrative in a roundabout way. About 
four o’clock on the previous afternoon, he said, when as violent 
a storm as was ever remembered was raging, a chaise drove up to 
the house at Gubstedt at a furious pace. The driver, who came 
from Wiesen, asked if Schmittler’s boy had got there from the 
beacon, where he had made the servant set him down, saying Wall- 
muths would fetch him thence. The man had waited at the mill 
until the storm suddenly burst overhead ; he then went on to Gub- 
stedt to see if the boy was there, or get assistance for him. Mr. 
Wallmuth saw there must be some misunderstanding, as Henry 
was not expected there; and as soon as the fury of the storm 
abated a little, he went to the forest himself with some men to 
look for the child. There at the foot of the beacon they found 
him, and beside him a woman, struck dead by lightning they 
thought. The boy had received a blow on his head, but it was 
only skin deep; he was, however, unconscious, through long ex- 
posure to the rage of the elements. Mr. Wallmuth had him car- 
ried to the mill, and went himself for the doctor, while he de- 


THE ENDING. 


191 


spatched the speaker to carry the news to Miss Schmittler ; for/’ 
he added, hesitatingly, master thinks the boy is very bad.” 

Marie listened in silence, scarcely hearing the question the 
bystanders addressed to one another: Who can the woman have 
been ? At one time the thought of the child’s existence was hate- 
ful to her, and now! When the messenger ceased speaking she 
uttered a piercing cry and fell fainting to the ground, for the 
first time, apparently, realizing what had happened. 

It was a terrible scene that met Wallmuth’s eyes the night be- 
fore when he reached the beacon with no little difficulty, across 
uprooted trees and running brooklets. One might have thought 
that the storm-gods of antiquity had met there to work havoc 
and destruction. The worst was over when the search-party 
reached the spot, but it presented a terrific aspect; the tem- 
pest seemed to have found more space in the little clearing to 
expend its force and fury. Several of the tallest firs had been 
struck, and in their fall had torn branches off the adjacent trees. 
Some, on which the bolt had fallen, were shivered to splinters. 

The wind had dropped, a sudden lull had succeeded the storm, 
and the clear moonbeams, lighting up that weird spot, enabled 
Wallmuth to ascertain the extent of the disaster. On the mound 
at the foot of the ill-omened post lay two motionless figures, in 
one of which he immediately recognized the individual of whom 
he was in search. A woman lay stretched over the boy, as if to 
shield him with her body. When Wallmuth succeeded in re- 
moving the weight that crushed her, he saw that death had done 
its work. The branch must have struck her exactly on the nape 
of the neck and caused instant death, as she seemed to have sus- 
tained no other severe injury. At first Wallmuth thought Henry 
was dead, as he was quite unconscious, and his forehead was bathed 
in blood from a deep scratch caused by a splinter of wood. Both 


192 


THE ENDING. 


seemed to have been kneeling at the foot of the beacon ; the boy’s 
hands were folded as if in prayer. Beside the woman lay a small 
bundle and a horn. 

When the boy was lifted up, a faint sigh escaped his lips. Wall- 
muth applied such restoratives as he had with him, and had the 
boy carried to the mill, while he sent for a doctor and gave notice 
at the nearest police station of the death of the unknown woman. 
In regard to the latter, the longer he gazed at her pallid features 
the more his suspicion strengthened into certainty ; little was left, 
it is true, of the bold beauty that distinguished the Jenny of 
former days; her laughing eyes were closed forever. Yet the 
wealth of raven hair, and the finely penciled eyebrows left Wall- 
muth no doubt as to her identity; and his conjecture was con- 
firmed when, on the arrival of the police sergeant, the bundle was 
opened. Wallmuth was aghast to learn from its contents that the 
deceased was not simply J enny Wittkopf, but Mrs. Wilthelm. Had 
she assumed the name, or had Frederic really married and then 
abandoned her ? What had brought her to Europe, and how had 
she induced Henr}^ to meet her there ? Did he intend to run away 
from his loving, faithful benefactress? Wallmuth had heard of 
such instances of ingratitude and heartlessness. But most of all 
he blamed the man who, under the guise of integrity and honesty, 
had ruined the lives of three persons. He wondered how Marie 
would bear this new development of affairs. 

The peasants in the vicinity fiocked to the spot where this 
exciting catastrophe had occurred. Their superstitious dread of 
the beacon, which stood unharmed amid the surrounding devasta- 
tion, received a fresh confirmation. It wafe the abode, they said, 
of evil and misfortune; the fact that the child’s mother should 
have been struck dead on the spot where she abandoned her off- 
spring seemed a just retribution. Yet they judged her less harshly 


THE ENDING. 


198 


than they did the individual who had seduced the handsome girl 
and then left her in misery. Maternal affection had drawn her 
thither, and her life had been lost in the endeavor to protect her 
child. 

As soon as Marie recovered consciousness she found relief in 
action. Her one desire was to repair as soon as possible to the 
mill to the bedside of her nursling. Just as she arrived at the 
house Jenny’s body was being carried in. She was brought back 
in death to the place whence, in her youthful impatience, she 
longed to go out into the wide world. Wallmuth told Marie who 
the stranger was. She was scarcely surprised, for she had come 
to the conclusion that the boy had been enticed away by some one 
who wanted to deprive her of him. This accounted for his strange 
behavior the day before, his repeated prayers for forgiveness ; pow- 
erful influence had evidently been exercised on him. Marie turned 
away her head as she passed the room where J enny’s remains were 
laid ; she could not bring herself to look at the woman who for the 
second time destroyed her happiness. 

Both Mrs. Wallmuth and the doctor were with Henry when 
she went to his side. Though conscious, he was delirious, and 
did not recognize Marie. The doctor had discovered no injury 
of any importance ; the wound on the forehead was a mere scratch, 
yet he considered the boy’s condition to be very serious, his ner- 
vous system had sustained so great a shock. 

Incoherent and disconnected as were the utterances of the boy 
in the long hours of delirium throughout which Marie watched 
by his side, she gradually learned from them how what had oc- 
curred had come about ; besides, the account given by the Wall- 
muths’ children of the woman with the clarionet whom they met 
at the Arensen fair elucidated much that was mysterious. In his 
wanderings he spoke continually of his father, whose name he said 


194 


THE ENDING. 


he had forgotten. In his calmer moments Marie attempted to 
question him, but the least mental effort caused his mind to wander 
again. 

Wallmuth at first refrained from telling Marie that in Jenny's 
passport she bore the name of Mrs. Wilthelm, and that Frederic’s 
address, together with a letter, dated some years hack, from a New 
York banker concerning a sum of money forwarded by Fred- 
eric Wilthelm was found in her bundle. He was, however, 
obliged to acquaint her with the fact, in consequence of the in- 
formation the police required. A great wave of color rose to 
Marie’s cheeks as he spoke to her of the apparently incontro- 
vertible testimony as to the boy’s father. But when he began to 
express his indignation in forcible language, ghe raised her eyes 
to his with a look of such pathetic entreaty that he was forced to 
keep silence. 

Marie was sitting by Henry’s side when the bell from the 
adjacent village of Dreesen announced that Jenny was being 
borne to her last resting-place. The day when that saucy girl 
first came across her path, inspiring her with instinctive dislike, 
recurred to her mind, and she went over all the links in the 
subsequent chain of events. She remembered how her father 
swore that the Wilthelms were a worthless race — ^he was right after 
all. She could forgive Frederic everything, she thought, except 
that semblance of truth and uprightness on which he prided him- 
self. How could she be hard on that foolish, ignorant creature 
who was now being carried to the grave ? Even to her he had not 
been faithful. Mr. Wallmuth spoke of incontrovertible proof — 
involuntarily her hand went to her pocket; she drew out the letter 
and read it again with a sarcastic smile. He was coming back be- 
cause time would have softened all asperities. Well, let him come ; 
let all at last be above board! With trembling fingers Marie 


THE ENDING. 


195 


penned the words : Yes ; come, that yon may see yonr son. He 
is dying — the mother is already dead. Marie Schmittler.’^ 

She wrote on it the address he gave, and told the lad who 
was going for the medicine to put it in the post. A few days later, 
when she calculated how soon Frederic could come, she would 
have given anything to recall it. But day by day passed; no 
answer came. Marie started each time the door opened, each 
time a strange step was heard. Her only visitor was the good 
priest from Wiesen, who came at a moment when the invalid’s 
mind was clear, and was the first person whom he really recog- 
nized. Left alone with him, the pastor gently and firmly asked 
him a few questions, and gradually elicited a full account of what 
had passed since the boy met his mother at Arensen, until the 
instant when, at the beacon, the awful storm burst over them. 
His mother had told him, he said, that his name was Frederic, 
not Henry. She also told him his father’s name, but that he had 
forgotten, the lightning and the falling trees terrified him so 
much. He knelt down to say his prayers, and made his mother 
kneel too ; after that he remembered nothing. 

When the pastor gently chided him for not having told all to 
Marie, and been open and frank with her, the boy’s tears flowed 
freely. Would she ever forgive him? he asked; she had shown 
him nothing but kindness, and he loved her more than any one in 
the world. The priest soothed him, reminding him how lovingly 
she nursed him now. 

Another thought seemed to trouble the boy : his mother ; what 
had become of her ? Would she want him to go to her again when 
he was well ? His friend saw that it would be best to tell him the 
truth : she was dead, and he must, as a filial duty, pray for her. 

Whether his foster-mother would still keep him was the next 
question. The priest felt warranted to assure him of this, th© 


196 


THE ENDING. 


more so as he perceived but too plainly that he would not long 
need her care. High fever was rapidly sapping the delicate child’s 
strength, and it was evident that his end was not far off. 

On this account the kind priest was doubly glad when the boy 
requested him to minister to him in his sacerdotal capacity. He 
was sorry for his little friend, but sorry most of all to find that 
what he had long refused to believe now appeared incontestably 
true. As he walked back he shook his gray head over the per- 
versity of mankind, who by their follies and passions ruin the 
lives of others. He was grieved to think he had been deceived, 
and that Marie had borne so much for one who was unworthy 
of her. 

When Marie returned to Henry’s bedside she was touched to 
the heart by the warm affection with which he embraced her, the 
sincerity with which he confessed his fault, the deep gratitude he 
manifested. She vowed to wish and ask for nothing more if the 
child were but spared to her. 

This was, however, not to be. His illness took an unfavorable 
turn, and scarcely a fortnight after Jenny was laid in the grave 
her child’s brief life on earth was closed. He expired in Marie’s 
arms, his last look of love fixed on his benefactress. 

Mrs. Wallmuth had dreaded the effect this event would have 
on her friend, but when, as in this case, death puts an end to 
acute suffering, a certain sense of relief softens the pain of part- 
ing. The sense of bereavement, of desolation, comes later. In 
that solemn moment Marie only felt that her task was ended, that 
the little sufferer was at peace. The tension of the last three 
weeks was removed, and Nature demanded the rest of which she 
had been deprived. 

Meanwhile the Wallmuths decked a room with boughs of fir 
and forest fiowers for this child of the woods, and the next day 


THE ENDING. 


197 


Marie was praying beside the bier whereon her darling lay when 
a talb stately figure entered the room. Marie started to her feet. 
For more than twelve years she had not seen that countenance. 
Time had changed it, but she knew it only too v/ell. A feeling 
of indignation rose within her. Why should he come to trouble 
her at such a moment ? His presence seemed almost a desecration 
as he advanced to her side. 

Too late ! ” she cried, in harsh and cutting accents. He 
no longer needs an earthly father.’^ 

Her sharp tones and repellent gesture made no impression 
on the man, and as he bent over the little coffin : “ Too late,’^ he 
murmured, too late to see my brother’s child, of whose existence 
I was ignorant till recently ; too late, to help his unhappy mother. 
Yes, it is his boy,” he added, with deep gravity, he has the fea- 
tures of our family. You have brought up the little outcast, and 
fulfilled nobly, generously, the task his parents thrust on you. I 
was on my way to you to ask an explanation of the strange tidings 
my brother communicated to me on his death-bed, when your 
note reached me. You brought a grave charge against me — will 
you listen to me for a few moments ? ” 

Marie stood as if stunned. Had she heard aright? His 
brother’s child ! She remembered nothing of what passed at that 
time except that the stranger knelt for a minute in silent prayer, 
and then preceded her out of the room. 

As she crossed the threshold Mr. Wallmuth came up the stairs. 
He looked inquiringly at the stranger — suddenly he recognized 
him, but he said not a word, nor was his hand extended in wel- 
come. Opening the door of an adjoining room, he asked him to 
come in. Marie clung to Wallmuth’s arm as if for protection. 
Frederic noticed this, and his brow darkened. I have a right to 
be heard. I shall not detain you long,” he said as he entered. 


198 


THE ENDING. 


When the}^ stood face to face, he first broke the silence; his 
voice sounded stern and distant. I am no intruder here,” he 
began. have returned to my country to execute my dying 
brother’s petition, to look after his wife and child. There seems 
to have been a strange mistake about the boy, of whose existence 
neither my mother nor I were aware. My brother. Will Wilthelm, 
•who died in America, told me that after his death his wife, the 
unfortunate J enny, would return home to seek her child. He in- 
formed me where documentary confirmation of his statements 
could be obtained. I have just returned from the town he in- 
dicated as the child’s birthplace; all he said is verified. At least 
the poor little chap has a right to our name.” So saying he 
handed to Wallmuth the marriage certificate of Will Wilthelm and 
Jane Wittkopf and the baptismal certificate of their son Fred- 
eric Wilthelm. 

He then continued: Afterward I repaired to the seaport 
where the woman would land, to hear if she had arrived, since 
my mother had seen nothing of her. From this double journey 
I only returned yesterday, and found Miss Schmittler’s note. I 
can not conceive what gave rise to the foul suspicion entertained 
in regard to me.” Then, overpowered by his grief, Marie, 
Marie ! ” he cried, what right had you to bring such a charge 
against me ? You have disowned me twice ! Was that your love ? ” 

Marie felt as if in a dream. She uttered not a sound, till 
Frederic turned to leave the room. Then she held out her arms, 
and Frederic, Frederic,” sounded from her lips. She would 
have fallen had not he caught her in his arms. For a moment he 
clasped her to his breast, then he gave her over to Wallmuth. 

Do not bear her ill-will,” the latter interposed. God knows 
all she has borne for your sake : her parents’ anger, the contempt 
of the world, and, indeed, everything till now has told against 


THE ENDING. 


199 


you. Who was the brother you speak of? How came he here? 
Your secretiveness has done all the mischief. My wife says there 
is nothing worse than not being outspoken. Say, Marie, shall he 
tell his story to you alone, or make a clean breast of it before 
both of us? Sit down, man, and let us hear all about if. You 
have made fools of us long enough, and your silence has nearly 
cost that poor girl her life. Ever since that day at Arensen you 
seemed to be demented.^^ 

That day at Arensen! Trifles long forgotten recurred to 
Frederic’s memory; he saw it was the first of a chain of coinci- 
dences and misapprehensions which must have put Marie’s trust 
to a severe test, through his own foolish pride. 

He sat down, and, beginning with his recognition of his 
brother in the band of musicians, told the whole tale, including 
the terrible discoveries he made in the shade of the fatal beacon. 
Before the conclusion, when Wallmuth heard of Will’s alias, he 
arose and exclaimed : How blind we all were ! ” He shook Fred- 
eric by the hand and left him alone with Marie. 

Frederic finished his tale by depicting the abiding grief Marie’s 
cold breaking off of the engagement had caused him. They looked 
into each other’s eyes with the old affection. Fourteen years had 
passed over their heads with heavy storms and scant sunshine; 
for Marie 

“ All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow. 

All the heartache, the restless, unsatisfied longing. 

All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! ” 

She felt as if the gates of paradise were opened to her, as she 
rested her head on her lover’s shoulder, and felt his arm encircling 
her. Their youth was past, true, but their early love had ripened 
into deep affection. The only shadow cast on Marie’s happiness 
was the loss of the child who for so many years had been her all. 


200 


TEE ENDING. 


This she told Frederic on the day when the boy was laid to rest 
beside the mother who had given her life for him. He could not 
sympathize with her on this point, but he thanked her most grate- 
fully for the love and care she had bestowed on his nephew. 

Some weeks later the bells at Wiesen rang out again, this time 
a merry peal on the occasion of Marie’s union with Wilthelm. The 
latter could not remain longer away from his post, and Marie 
would not let him return alone, for to free himself from his 
position might prove a lengthy matter, and the lovers had already 
been parted only too long. The sympathy and interest the mar- 
riage excited were universal, but Frederic was less gratified than 
he would otherwise have been by the esteem shown him, had he 
not learned by bitter experience how human judgment may err. 
As for the aged pastor, seldom had he pronounced the Church’s 
blessing on a wedded couple with so much pleasure, for now his 
faith in mankind, which had begun to waver, was happily re- 
established. 

Before leaving for her distant home Marie wished to revisit 
the grave of her foster-child. Frederic drove her thither. On 
their way they passed the spot whence the fatal beacon, the bat- 
tered, age-blackened post could be discerned. They did not stop, 
but each said a silent prayer for all those in whose life that forest 
clearing had been a place of evil portent. 

The events we have recorded have passed into a popular legend, 
the malign influence of the ancient beacon being perhaps unduly 
magnified, and the work of the spirits of evil in bewitching those 
who visited the spot exaggerated. 

* * * % * 

For many years the house on Schmittler’s farm stood un- 
tenanted, the broad, fertile acres being tilled by a stranger’s hand. 
Frederic and Marie were well content in exile, but gradually their 


TBE ENDim. 


m 


thoughts turned homeward. Frederic wished to farm his own 
land ; he had amassed a sufficient sum to enlarge and improve the 
property. So now Marie, rosier and happier-looking than in past 
years, stands once more in the sunny garden beside the old arbor 
looking out over the hedge. But as she does so, she sighs, for her 
kind old friend has exchanged the presbytery for an eternal home. 
Nor, though she is now the mother of merry, happy children, does 
she forget the child to whom she acted a mother’s part, whom she 
purchased for her own through bitter sorrow. She no longer 
thinks of the beacon as a fatal spot ; the gloomy associations con- 
nected with it are banished; she only remembers that there she 
first tasted that happiness of which she now enjoys so abundant 
a measure. 


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